


The Island of X

by ThamasD



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Not an MSR, Periods of Violence, Strong Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:40:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26903779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThamasD/pseuds/ThamasD
Summary: Scully has a dream. Or is she really living an X-File?
Relationships: Alex Krycek/Dana Scully
Comments: 7
Kudos: 3





	The Island of X

**Author's Note:**

> I originally wrote this 18 years ago. I started on January 4, 2002 and finished it on January 10, 2002. I posted it elsewhere on the 'Net, under a couple of different names, and recently came across it on my hard drive. I decided to go over it (to get me back into the mindset of writing after a prolonged illness), and have thus spent three weeks revising for grammar/punctuation/dialogue.
> 
> Timeline: Takes place eleven years after Mulder's funeral in DeadAlive. Nothing after that scene in S8-Ep15 happened in this universe.
> 
> Disclaimer: (Is this really necessary on this archive?) - I don’t own them. CC, 1013 and Fox do. (Seriously, if I did, I would definitely NOT live year-round in a place where it snows.) No Copyright Infringement is intended. No money is being made here. Feedback is always welcome. Flames are used to heat my apartment.

The sunlight upon my face is warm. It invites me to awaken, as I roll over in my sleep. I smile to myself; thinking about the fact the blinds must be open. His signal to me that he is already up, and the decaf espresso will be ready as soon as I care to join him in the kitchen. Yet, upon reaching the position of flatness, I am stunned to realize a couple of things:

A sudden burst of pain has gone through my lower back.

_Is the baby coming?_

And I am **not** in our bed.

No, I am not feeling the heat of the rays beaming through our bedroom window. Instead, I’m lying on what feels to be—by the grains falling through my fingers—a layer of soft, fine...

Sand.

I jerk up to a sitting position and gaze around. Sand indeed flies about my face from the sudden movement of my hair.

 _Where am I? And how the hell did I get here?_ I wonder, as I take in the sight of the aquamarine water, lapping at my feet.

Startled to full wakefulness, I stand and continue to shake my head to both gain my bearings, and rid myself of the sand. Looking across the great pool of ocean, so clear I can actually see the tropical fish swimming along with the current, I find that I can’t move for the shock of my surroundings.

 _Where the_ **_fuck_ ** _am I?_

“It's about time you decided to wake up and join me, Scully.”

With a greater shock hitting me than the white sand and turquoise water has induced, I turn slowly, at the sound of the familiar yet long-time-since-I-last-heard voice of my former partner, and I stare. Then, I gasp at the sight of the man who stands not too far from me in the sand.

"What is it, Scully? You look like you’ve seen a ghost!"

I run my hands through my hair to get the remainder of the sand out of it, before pinching my left earlobe; making sure I am really awake. That I am truly seeing the man whom I thought I would never again see. In a black, Armani suit. In the bright sunlight.

Fox William Mulder.

"Mulder? But, how? How are you? You are..." I stammer, as my brain tries to absorb the image of him standing in front of me. “You're dead."

He gives me a quizzical look, and then laughs. "You must have slept a lot longer than I thought. As you can see, I’m as alive as can be. Are you okay, Scully?"

“I'm fine." I instantly answer, using words I have not felt the need to use for a long, long time. “Mulder? You can’t be alive. I mean… we buried you eleven years ago. In a cemetery in Raleigh, North Carolina. Even the Lone Gunmen came to your funeral.” He laughs, and it kills me.

“Okay, now I know you hit your head too hard. You’re not making any sense. Come here, let me take a look at you."

As he walks closer to me, I start to feel faint and drop to my knees in the warming sand.

_It must at least be morning. What is going on? Why do I feel like I am actually awake, and not dreaming?_

At that moment, I finally realize I am also wearing clothes.

"Mulder, what the fuck is going on here? I should be at home. In bed. Lying naked next to my husband of ten years. How the hell am I here? On a beach? Wearing jeans? With you?"

Then a flash of understanding of what must be happening flits across my mind.

 _I must have died in my sleep! Oh no! My poor family! But,_ **_this_ ** _is Heaven? Being on a beach with Mulder? That couldn't be right, could it?_

I close my eyes, and shake my head, trying to piece together what’s happening. I open them again, and look up at him.

 _Yes, he is still there. I_ **_must_ ** _have died._

It takes everything in me to hold back the sobs.

_Heaven is supposed to be a happy place, right? Then why do I feel so sad? Why am I not as excited to see him, as I should be?_

I look up at him, and wipe my eyes.

_I can’t cry here. It goes against everything I’ve ever believed. The idea is ludicrous. I should be thrilled to see Mulder again. Right?_

He stops walking toward me and gives me the oddest look I have ever seen from his hypnotizing hazel eyes. He then breaks into a run and abruptly places his hands upon the back of my head. He starts examining me. The fact I can truly feel his touch leaves me rooted to the spot.

"Nope, no bumps." He stares intently into my face and proceeds to move his hands over my head and neck, the way a doctor would. The way I would, on one of my own patients. "No bruises. Scully, you really are starting to scare me with your weird proclamations, but, we don’t have time for this right now. While you were in Dreamland…”

 _Dreamland?_ I repeat to myself. **_This_** _is Dreamland!_

“… took it upon myself to venture out passed our little camp here and see what the hell else is on this island. You’ll never believe what I found."

_Island? Camp? 'Weird proclamations’?_

I think I’m going to pass out. Until another discovery shocks me into solid awareness. One I should have known first thing. Before anything else ever registered: I am no longer pregnant. I realize this little tidbit, when I straighten up from my kneeled position and notice I can actually see my tennis shoe-clad feet.

"Oh my God! Where is my baby? What is happening? Where is my husband? How the hell did I get here?”

 _Did I die and the baby live? Is that why I am no longer with child?_

I want to fall to the soft sand and huddle into a fetal position. I want to keep going on with my litany of questions to him, but am silenced by another shock to my system: a slap in the face.

From Mulder.

I rub at my stinging flesh, while instantly pissed off. "What the fuck did you do that for?”

"You were talking some psycho-crazy shit, Scully. I had to bring you out of it. Damn, you must have had some creepy hallucinations due to being drugged. A husband? A baby? Again, damn.”

"Drugged?" I ask, knowing full well I am speaking the truth. Truth is what he always respected from me before, so what changed? Plus, I was in no way drugged. At least, if I had been, **this** is the delirium I am suffering. Not 'creepy hallucinations'.

As long as I am, in fact, not really dead.

“Yes, Scully. Drugged. The way I figure, that must be how we got here. It’s the only explanation I can think of."

"Where exactly do you think we are, Mulder?” I ask, thinking maybe if I play into this little delusion I will be able to convince my subconscious mind I should be allowed to awaken. That I am not deceased.

 _What did I eat for dinner last night?_ I randomly consider. _Oh yes, it was a box of those little pieces of chicken that came out recently, from that restaurant over on Pennsylvania Avenue, just down the street from the Hoover Building. We stopped there on our way home. Could I be in a coma? Could I be suffering from ptomaine? Damn, that has to be it! I should have listened to his teasing voice and had a salad. But, the cravings! They can be so intense! But a coma? Brought on by food poisoning?_

I am startled out of my pondering by Mulder's voice. The same voice I used to spend hours at night crying over, for the loss of hearing.

“Based upon the climate I have deduced we are on an island somewhere in the tropics. Other than that? I have no clue. Well, as far as our actual location on Earth, anyway. I do know, though, that we are not alone."

He definitely has my interest now.

 _Maybe I am in some sort of version of Heaven. Who else could be here? Samantha?_ I gasp. _Missy?_

"What do you mean we are not alone?"

"Come on, Scully. Follow me and I’ll show you." He then reaches out to take my left hand.

In doing so, I realize another two things: first, my ruby and diamond wedding ring is no longer on my left third finger, and second, there are three other figures lying on the beach, just four feet from where we stand.

_Why didn't I notice them before?_

Ignoring Mulder, I start to make my way over to the obviously sleeping forms.

_Do you sleep when you are in Heaven? Was I asleep, before? Or was I really drugged? Am I in a coma? What is going on? This shit just gets weirder and weirder._

Unfortunately, before I can reach the others, Mulder catches and tugs on my hand; demonstrating with his hard pull on my arm that he doesn’t want to deal with them.

"Let them sleep it off, Scully. If the Doggetts and Skinman wake up with as weird of ideas, as you have had this morning, then I’m convinced we should not be here when they do. We’ll come back for them later."

"But Mulder, Skinner is over there!”

 **_Skinner_** ** _?_** I haven't called him that in years!

“He’s lying between Agents John and Monica Doggett. We need to help them!” I inform him, stunned at my own words, and his actions of dismissal.

 _Wait… that would mean that they are dead too! Wouldn't it?_

He continues to pull me across the beach; away from the water; away from my friends; toward what appears to be an embankment leading up a cliffside. "Yes, so?"

"So?" I ask him, flabbergasted. "How the hell do you even know the Doggetts? You never met them! You were dead before they walked into my life. Well, before Monica did, anyway. John? He helped me to… to find you."

He stops dragging me along the embankment full of reeds just long enough to stare at me again. He appears rather pissed off, and I try to step away from him; fearing him for probably the first time in my life… _Death?…_ But he refuses to release me.

"Damn it, Scully! I have known the Doggetts for years! Don't you remember? I’m the one who got Monica and John together in the first place! Shit, just how drugged were you?”

Now I know it’s time to simply keep my mouth shut and follow his lead. If this is really happening, I will find a way to rescue myself later. If it is just a dream… _I hope!_ … Then I will play it out, and pray that my husband won't be sweet—for once—by allowing me to sleep in.

 _Dreams or hallucination or whatever the fuck is going on here cannot hurt you, right?_

I stare at Mulder's back, after he gives me one more concerned look, before turning around and continuing to drag me toward the cliff.

_I cannot possibly be dead. This is just too weird to be Heaven. Maybe I am in Hell?_

I shake my head again, and plaster a smile on my face. Not that anyone else can see it.

 _Purgatory?_

“You’re right, Mulder. I forgot. It must have been whatever I was drugged with. Of course you did. I’m sorry. All right, let’s allow them to sleep. Wal… um, Skinner, isn’t exactly the greatest person to hang out with, when he first wakes up." I say, trying my best to placate him.

It seems to do the trick, as he pulls me up the embankment with significantly less force.

“It’s okay, Scully. It just proves we will definitely need to rest when we can, to allow you to get over the last of the effects in your system. But first, I want to show you what I found.”

Deciding to play along with this little… _okay_ ** _huge_** _…_ delusion, I take advantage of my slimness… _Please let this be a dream, I want my baby!_ … by letting go of Mulder's hand to scale the forty-five degree face of the cliff.

He seems to sense my sudden energy and laughs; trying to turn our climb into a race.

I bite.

 _Maybe if I can get my heart rate up, I’ll wake up._

He beats me to the top, as though he knew it was destined. I may be suddenly without child, but that appears to have done nothing to help me in the aspect of speed. He is still a good foot taller than me; thereby, he still has longer legs than I do.

 _The jerk._

He stands at the top and carefully leans over; holding out his hand to me to pull me to the even ground he stands on. I gladly take it, and then bend over and grab my knees, breathing heavily from my exertion.

"Okay, Mulder. What did you find? Show me." I say, as I rise to my full height, while instinctively reaching behind my back, for my semi-automatic nine millimeter Sig Sauer that used to be cradled in its leather holster underneath my shirt in another life. Of course, I find it to actually be there.

 _The source of my earlier pain upon waking. Or not. Whatever._

I realize then, as I look up at Mulder, that he is suddenly in jeans and a black, form-fitting tee shirt. The suit is gone.

_What the fuck? All right, this is getting weirder by the moment. But, again, whatever._

I wait, not really surprised by all the things that keep happening, as he smiles at me and reaches for his own Glock.

 _How many more shocks could I get, really?_

"Come on, Scully! You’re not going to believe this!" He informs me, almost gaily, but not quite.

_Want to make a bet?_

Worryingly, he also sounds preoccupied.

"Mulder, what is it? Why can't you just tell me, so that I can be a little more prepared?"

“Because, unless you see it, you won’t believe it. It’s only about three quarters of a mile south of here."

I must admit, I’m intrigued. He’s always managed to somehow make me catch his enthusiasm about something, anything that piques his own interest. Even against my better judgement. Now, I find myself slipping back into the mode of my former self.

Special Agent Dana Scully. FBI.

_Fuck._

"All right, Mulder. Lead the way." I urge, as I automatically check my weapon. By the weight I know that the magazine is full, and there is one in the chamber. I click the safety into the off position, before glancing back at him, and he smiles as he turns to walk ahead of me.

Following a few paces behind, I gaze around at the scenery and laugh inwardly, at myself.

_I knew I had the ability to dream in color, but this is fucking ridiculous!_

About a half mile from the cliffside, we come across the most beautiful meadow I think I have ever seen. It stretches out well beyond where we are walking. It seems almost a perfect rectangle of grass, trees and… wildflowers.

_Wildflowers? This close to a beach? Now I know I am dreaming!_

I lean over and take a whiff of a small cluster. They smell wonderful. There are various species and all different colors. Reds, blues, purples, pinks and greens.

Green.

The color seems to saturate my sense of vision.

Green grass, green leaves on the palm trees… _Palm trees? In a meadow? And what is that?_

A green, high-pitched roof.

"Mulder?"

"Yeah, Scully?"

"What is that building over there?"

“That's what I wanted to show you. It appears this island is not deserted after all. I don’t know what the building is used for though. As soon as I saw the roof, I sprinted back down the embankment and came after you."

"Gee, thanks. It’s nice to know you decided not to ditch me, for once."

"Aw, Scully. I’m hurt." He replies, feigning pain.

“Uh huh.” I respond, much to his apparent delight.

He chuckles quietly, as we get closer to the object of his desire.

I realize the building is massive as we approach. It surprises me, as it appeared a lot smaller from the other side of the meadow we have just about finished crossing. I also realize it is not merely a building, but a house.

Walking silently up toward the side of it, I notice the architecture is much like that of a mountain lodge. But, not. Too much glass to be considered as such. About six feet from either corner there is a two story sheet of glass placed into the real log siding that holds it in place. It takes up most of the side of the house closest to us. I can also see that a matching window makes up the wall on the other side.

“Jesus, Mulder. Look at the size of this house! That window has got to be forty-eight feet wide!” I whisper, hoping to keep from attracting the attention of whomever may be inside. The glass leaves little to be desired as where to potentially hide.

_Probably the point._

“It’s certainly crazy, Scully.” He agrees, as we hunch lower in the grass, sneak quickly passed the giant window, and around to the front.

“Oh my God.” I exhale on a breath; my arm automatically lowering my weapon to my side, as I take in the view of the structure as a whole. The style looks familiar, but completely escapes me. I’m not surprised.

There are four, six inch diameter log posts—one set every eight feet—supporting a slanted green-shingled roof, which juts out from the baseline of the second floor to hang above a slatted-wood porch with split rails making up the front of the structure. There are four matching large dormer windows coming out of the siding on the second floor, also spaced every eight feet, above the posts.

On the main level, roughly three feet above the porch floor there are two more huge sheets of glass making up horizontal rectangular picture windows flush with the siding. Unlike the side windows, these are placed starting at about two feet from the corners of either side of the house. They extend along the wall and stop about a foot from either side of an eight-foot high set of green double doors placed in the direct center of the facade.

A set of steps lead from the porch in front of the doors, and down to a small gravel walkway. If I had to guess, I would put the house at roughly sixty feet in width by forty or so feet in length. The roof looks to be made from composition shingles, though. A weird aspect of the building. At least for me.

 _I thought that log homes always had wood shingles._

A funny thing to be pondered, considering I’m following my should-be-dead partner through a palm tree-wildflower-grassland-meadow and up onto the porch.

As though I were a rookie, he leans against the wall and motions for me to stand up against the siding too, as he peers through one of the windows. It takes everything in me to keep from rolling my eyes.

"What do you see?" I inquire, starting to wonder who on Earth would build such a place on a deserted island, out in the middle of only God knows where.

_Get a grip, Dana. This isn’t real!_

"Nothing much." He whispers. "Wait. I can faintly make out a group of figures. They appear to be seated next to a fireplace."

_A fireplace? What the hell do you need with a fireplace on a deserted tropical island?_

I start chuckling. "Must be roasting marshmallows."

He turns his head and gives me one of his loopy grins.

I almost fall to the porch like a stone.

_My God. I haven’t seen that smile in so long, I forgot what it had the ability to do to me. Stop it Dana. You are a happily married woman! Yes, well, why doesn't Prince Charming wake me up then?_

I shake my head to clear my thoughts, realizing I am not being fair to either myself, or my Prince, and I return my attention to the task at hand. Raising my weapon I ask, “What else do you see?"

"Nothing. It’s too dark to make out anything else." He places a finger to his lips and then indicates that he is going to try to cross the path of the window, unseen.

Just as he makes it to the other side, byway of dropping and crawling across the wood planks of the porch, I feel a tap on my shoulder which puts my heart in my throat, and almost sends me running and screaming. Only Mulder's calming gaze keeps me from doing so. I turn around and stare into the faces of my friends. They are clearly confused and wondering what the hell is occurring.

 _How did they come up behind us, without Mulder and me hearing them?_

"Dana?" Monica asks. "Where the hell are we?"

I look into the eyes of my dear friend and, for once, have no idea how to answer her question. "I have no idea. But, Mulder," pausing to watch her eyes for any sign of denial of knowing him, and finding none I continue, "seems to think we are on a not-so-deserted island, somewhere in the tropics."

_She didn’t even flinch when I said his name! He was right. She must know him, as a real person; not a memory of mine own making. Otherwise, she would be all over me by now, reminding me that he is long dead, and I should leave the past where it lay. But, if I’m dead, why is she here? Why are John and Walter here, too? It’s further proof I’m dreaming, right?_

“Scully?” Walter questions, coming closer to my side.

“What does Mulder think is going on here?" John continues, arriving at the side of his wife.

All of them apparently want me to elaborate on Mulder's theory. Yet, each also act as though it is perfectly normal for Mulder to still be alive; to still be my partner; to still assume he knows something that we do not.

"Like I said, I don't know. Ask him." I am tired of this little figment of my overworked imagination.

 _I want to wake up. I want to be at home. I want to see my husband. I want to see my son. I want to be pregnant._

"Shhh, you guys. Be quiet! You’re killing my element of surprise here." Mulder pipes up in a sharp whisper from across the porch.

Once again, they each seem to sense the impending danger that Mulder has led us to, as they remove their guns from their own respective holsters. Watching them perform this normal routine, I realize they are all, too, wearing jeans, tee shirts, and tennis shoes.

 _So much for Bureau policy._ I randomly reflect. _Oh man, the shit is getting deep! No more bite size chicken bits for me!_

Just as John follows Mulder's lead by crawling across the porch floor to join up with him… _A sight I never would have imagined before, even in a dream!…_ I hear a voice coming from inside. It is faint, but I recognize it instantly, and my heart starts to race.

"I am sick and tired of hiding out on this God forsaken island! Damn it! If you wanted me to appear dead, why the fuck didn't you just do it! You should have killed me, Alvin. It would definitely be better than hanging out here with that whiny bitch Phoebe, and having to watch her antics with X. The sight of those two together; kissing and hugging each other like teenagers on a hormone rampage is enough to drive me to drink. Which, unfortunately, I do not even get the pleasure of doing, seeing as how there is not a liquor store around for hundreds of miles. It has been years now, I think it’s safe to say I should be allowed to leave!"

 _Oh my God! It can't be!_

"Mulder?" I whisper, frantically trying to get his attention, without screaming his name at the top of my lungs. "Diana is in there!"

"You really think so?" He asks. Apparently he had been distracted by something John had said to him and thus not heard the words coming from inside the building.

I turn to look at Walter, whom I know had heard her, too. I can tell from his stunned expression.

"I thought she was dead.” He simply states.

"Diana Fowley?" Monica asks, looking at me as if I have lost my mind.

 _Maybe I have. Maybe this is real, and the past eleven years of my life are the hallucination. But that cannot be right. Or else I would remember that Monica and Mulder have been friends, right? Wouldn't I? I would not feel in my heart, the anguish for my missing child. Would I?_

I shake my head again, starting to feel the onslaught of a migraine. If I am not careful, I will start to see spots in my field of vision soon, and that would not be a good thing. Not with the predicament I find myself in.

"I thought she was dead?” Monica continues.

 _Yes, well. I thought Mulder was dead too._ I cannot help but remind myself. "She is,” I state simply. "Though, if my recollection serves me right, I never did see her body. I only heard the news from a fellow agent."

Then another voice floats out from the slightly open window and it, too, shocks me. Yet, for an entirely different reason.

"You know, you should be counting your fucking blessings, lady! At least you can keep your perpetual tan! I don’t have that luxury! Not even here can I take my shirt off and expose myself. Not with all of you people living on and moving about this damn island! No way! Not only that," He pauses, “but... I shouldn't even be here, in the first fucking place!"

I know, now, that I am going to faint, as I hear the one voice I was not expecting to hear.

Not here.

Not now.

Not with Mulder actually alive and breathing.

Carrying a gun.

Aimed and ready.

I start to slide to the floorboards of the porch, but am prevented from doing so, as Monica rushes up to catch me.

"Day? Are you all right?"

I must hide my fear from them. From her. Because if it’s true—the owner of that voice is here. In this place. Then I know I have a hard road ahead of me, dream or no dream. Because if Mulder is really my partner, and somehow, things did not happen the way I feel… _Know!…_ They did, then that could possibly mean only one logical thing.

_He is still…_

I swallow back the bile that threatens to fill my parched throat. "Yes, I’m fine."

_There I go again! Twice in an hour! I haven’t said those damn words to describe myself in years! Oh God, why can't I wake up? Were we in an accident? Is that why I will not awaken?_

I start to tremble, but pretend it’s out of anger at hearing the last voice that came to my ears, rather than admit that it’s from fear. Fear at what could happen to me now, in this weird realm which I find myself trapped.

"Scully?" Mulder inquires, looking at me across the span of the windowpane staring intently, wanting to come to me, but not able to, or he would risk getting caught by the occupants of the structure.

“I'm fine, Mulder." I whisper to him… _What is it they say? Three time's the charm?…_ Trying to assure him that I am 'his' Scully.

The Scully that is fearless.

The Scully that is willing, always willing, to follow his lead.

The Scully, who is not married with a family of her own to look after.

"What do you want to do?" I ask him, slapping a stoic expression on my face to keep him from reading my thoughts. The way he always seemed to be able to do… before.

"I don't know. How many do you think are in there?"

I know what he wants me to do, but I really don’t know if I can do it. I don’t know that I could tolerate seeing **him**.

Seeming to sense my unease, Walter sneaks up to the side of the window, peers inside, and gasps.

"What is it?" Mulder and I both ask.

"You would never believe me if I told you. You will have to look for yourselves."

"I tried that!" Mulder states, as quietly as he can; considering he is growing ever more agitated. "I couldn't see anything."

"Well then, they must have turned on a light, because I can see just fine. Though, I must wonder if my eyes have deceived me."

Not able to take Walter's ambiguous attitude any longer, Mulder again drops to the planks of the porch and makes his way back to my side. He stands as silent as a feline and gazes through the window, before his jaw drops.

"Shit! You have got to be kidding! This is not happening!"

 _Finally! He agrees with me!_

"What is it, Mulduh?" John whispers from his place on the opposite side of the window.

“Unreal, that’s what. You have to see for yourself!"

By this time I am dying of curiosity and must take a peek, even if I know it could very well send me over the edge. I take a deep breath and move my way passed Mulder to look inside.

There stand, just as I feared: Alex Krycek with his hands in his jacket pockets, and Diana Fowley her arms folded across her chest.

 _God, I haven’t seen him dressed that way in years!_ I contemplate, taking in the sight of his black leather boots, tight black jeans, plain white tee shirt and black leather jacket. _Even on a hot, deserted island the man wears black!_ I note, also taking in the sight of Diana.

She too, looks as I remember. With her long dark hair, immaculate attire, and tightly pinched face.

 _Like a Ratbitch._ I think, chuckling, using the word for her that I had made up, so as to about match the word that Mulder had chosen to describe his nemesis so many years ago.

However, they aren’t the only people I see. Beyond the two of them, seated on what appears to be a rustic-designed brown leather couch, sits Phoebe Greene with her arms wrapped around the man Mulder knew only as X; canoodling against his neck to his utter delight. Off to the left, against the far wall of the room, Bill Mulder is having a heated discussion with former Deputy Director Alvin Kersh up against the mantle of the fireplace. And, of course, the one and only Marita Covarrubias, grinning like the cat that ate the canary is seated in a matching rustic recliner off to the right of the couch. Sucking down what looks to be a dry martini, and taking in the entire scene.

I have to look away to keep from breaking down into hysterics. Monica gives me one of her practically-patented motherly looks and I virtually fly off the porch back toward the meadow.

_This is just too fucking much! Even in a dream! Nearly every one of those people is supposed to be dead! The only one missing at this point would be the damn smoker._

I am half tempted to turn my gun on myself and pull the trigger. Not because I want to die, though if my family truly is gone, I would rather be non-existent than having to try to live in 'this' life… death?… But more to test the theory of whether a person truly 'can' die in real life, if killed in a dream. To test whether or not I would wake up, where I should be. Home.

The idea grows on me, and I raise my gun to my head. Unfortunately, just before I’m able to finish squeezing, I hear another voice and it renders me immobile.

Agent Pendrell.

 _Oh. My. God! Is this a fucking joke? Can this shit seriously be happening to me right now?_

"Agent Scully! Mulder! Why didn't you wait for me? Damn it, Mulder! I told you I wanted to search the damn building with you!"

I can only stare at him as his frame grows larger with every step he takes toward me, until he is standing directly in front of me. In a pair of jeans. Holding a handgun identical to mine.

I am so completely surprised that instead of pulling the trigger, I accidentally drop my gun. Something I have never done, not even in a situation of real danger.

 _Okay, it has been forced from me, but I never dropped it!_

Agent Pendrell simply smiles at me; picks up my weapon from the ground, as though my dropping it is an everyday occurrence, and he says, "Hi, Agent Scully. Missing something?"

 _The smug little shit._ I grab my gun from him; look around at the scene which can only be described as a nightmare at this point, and bolt out in a fierce dash across the meadow.

Back toward the beach.

Back toward… _Please, Almighty Father…_ my sanity.

I stop half way through the meadow to catch my breath and take a glance behind my shoulder. They are all still behind me, staring after my abrupt exit. They have moved a short distance away from the exterior of the house, but they are not coming after me.

Good! I will run back to the beach and lie back down. Then, if I can simply fall back asleep, I know I will abruptly wake up at home, in my own damn bed, to the delicious aroma of brewing coffee, and this nightmare will be behind me. Please God?

I turn back around and run toward the embankment. Sprinting down the face of it, as though it were a flat surface instead of one full of tiny seashells and dried up seaweed, it takes a lot to keep from twisting an ankle. That’s all I’d need. I am almost back to my original spot, where this whole fantasy started, when another surprising image stops me mid-sprint. Cold.

 _What the fuck is going on! I know for a fact that_ **_she_ ** _is dead. Please, please, please, Dana. Wake the fuck up!_

"Dana? Honey, are you okay? You look like you are about to fall over in a faint."

I find myself, more out of a renewed habit than anything else, replying to her voice. “I'm fine, Mom."

 _Four! Oh shit!_

I realize then I still have my gun in my hand and that she is staring at it. I put the safety back on, and slide it back into its holster, blushing. "What are you doing here?" I ask her, looking around at the scene before me.

_Same beach, different setup. Wait, hadn't Mulder mentioned earlier that we had a campsite?_

I start rubbing at my right temple, acutely aware of the slight array of spots starting to cloud the vision of my right eye.

"I know that look. You are certainly not fine. Come over here now, and sit down by the fire. I’ll fix you right up and you can tell me all about it. You look like you could really use the conversation." She walks up to me and takes my hand, leading me to a log that lies in the middle of the sand, parallel to a small fire that she had been standing over.

 _What the hell is she standing over a fire for? It has to be at least 85 degrees out here!_

As we get closer, I smell something, and look into the small pit. _She is cooking?_ In wonder, I take in the sight of the little pig that is stuck through with a stick; hovering above the flames. _Mom cannot stand pork, why would she be cooking a pig? Where did she find a pig to cook?_

She sets me down on the log and walks away for a moment. Upon her return, she produces two tiny pills and a soda.

_A soda? On a deserted island? Well, Dana, it can’t be any weirder than finding the thought-to-have-been-long-dead members of the Syndicate hanging out in a lodge, could it?_

I take the ibuprofen and the can of cola and swallow them down.

 _At least they will stave off my migraine._

"Where are the others?" Yet another voice asks.

I look up from my seated position and place a hand over my eyes to block out the sun, looking toward the sound of the voice. What I see has me on my feet immediately, dropping the soda.

 _Holy Mother of God! Teena Mulder? And who is that with her? No! It can't be! It’s impossible!_

Walking toward my mother and me—holding hands—are Mulder's mother and….

I blink thrice to make sure my eyes are not deceiving me.

 _Nope, he’s still there._

Deep Throat.

"Jesus.” I reply, sinking back down to the log, grasping at it to keep from fainting dead away.

"Dana?" My mother asks, running over to me after turning the spit in the fire. "You don’t look well, Honey."

"I don't feel well, Mom." I finally admit. I am truly not fine. Hell, I have not been so ‘un-fine' in years.

"What's the matter, Dear?" Deep Throat then asks in a gentle voice. I’m back to wanting to scream.

I look up at him; over at Mulder's mom—whose hand, he still holds—and back down at the ground.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you." I reply feeling defeated.

_Though this absolutely has to be a dream, even I know that I would have awakened by now, if it were. I mean, who could sleep through all of this shit? Who could possibly lie still and allow the images of dead persons in their past haunt them, as I am feeling haunted now? Plus, why? What’s the point of this craziness?_

I break into sobs and close my eyes; place my face into my hands, and start shaking. After a few moments, I feel a gentle hand on my shoulder. _Thank you, Sweet Baby Jesus,_ I think, believing wholeheartedly my precious husband has, at last, decided to wake me. Decided he is no longer content to simply sit downstairs and read the Sunday morning paper; watching our son play a game of catch with his best friend through the back patio doors. My tears dry up, as I remove my hands from my face, expecting to peer up into the beautiful eyes of my one and only. Only to immediately stop breathing for what I actually find upon opening my eyes:

More fucking sand and….

 _The fucking smoker. Of course he’d finally show up!_

I seriously doubt I have ever moved so fast in my entire life. Death. _Life?_ Not even when I had raced to reach the spot where John had found Mulder, all those many years ago in Montana. I move so swiftly, I trip over a large conch shell that lies embedded in the sand— _of course there is and it does_ —and I fall, flat on my ass. Finally.

 _Thank God for small favors. I knew I was probably going to end up on my damn face at some point, and landing on my gun would not have been a pleasant experience!_

I hastily pick myself up, but am immediately thrust back to the sand by my own body's evil doing.

One head-rush from the pits of Hell coming right up.

Quaking with nausea, I’m aware my migraine is now in full swing. If I don’t find a nice, quiet, and secluded place soon, I will start to throw up.

_I wonder if the contents would be little chunks of 'all white meat' chicken?_

Unable to stop it, I break out into a raucous fit of uncontrollable laughter, as I roll around in the sand, much like a small child would while throwing a temper tantrum.

 _Yes, everybody, Dana Katherine has finally lost her mind!_

I laugh harder.

I stop moving around and place my left hand to my face, once again noticing the lack of a prized piece of gold jewelry, and I must force myself from laughing even more, while trying to catch my breath.

 _Who the fuck cares if I have to suffer this agony? Maybe my migraine will get to the point where I will just have a seizure, and get it over with. This life, death, whatever the fuck is happening to me._

After a few moments of deep breathing, I manage to regain my composure, and my footing. However, my sensitivity to light has become worse and I rub my eyes with my hands; wishing desperately to ease myself of the pain. Try to focus on the people standing around me.

"Dana? You must calm down! What were you laughing at? What are you scared of? Why did you react like that to your father?"

 _My_ **_what_ ** _?_

"My what?" I ask, lowering my hands from my face. Aware I should probably, at this point, just keep my damn mouth shut, or the answer I receive may only add to my apparent insanity.

"Your step-father. Dana! Do not start this shit again, young lady! I realize my marrying Charles was not the most pleasant experience for you and Bill, but he does care about the both of you. Now get your ass over here this instant and let him take a look at you!"

 _Charles? Shit? My ass?_ The fact my mother was just cussing me out, for probably the first time I can ever recall, sends me into another fit of hysterics, but I do try my hardest to respond to her. While at the same time vowing to myself: _I will not allow that son of a bitch near me!_

"Him? You married **him**?! When the hell did you marry him? How did you marry him? You are both dead! Krycek… _Krycek?… ,_ killed him a long fucking time ago, and you….” I instantly shut my mouth. Tight. There is no fucking way I could even imagine repeating aloud the thought that courses through my mind.

 _You died in a car accident while I was on my honeymoon._

She stares at me, as though I have gone insane.

I have. I am convinced of this now. Otherwise, I would never—ever—talk to my mother in the way that I just have.

_Therefore, why does the fact that I did surprise me, here?_

Because of what I have lost in the process, if it turns out to be true. If this is reality. The **other** was Dreamland. My husband, my children, my life, all gone. My mind? I double over, trying my best to control the renewed laughter that pours out of me. It is of no use; I can’t stop as I watch Spender make his way toward me, again.

"Awfully nice shoes to be worn on a beach, don't you think? Cancer Man?" I quip, noticing he is actually dressed in wingtips and a suit, like he always seemed to have been. I become conscious of the fact, when I stand up straight and glare at him, that both my vision has cleared and he looks different than I remember him appearing the last time I saw him. He had been sick then.

 _Now? Now he looks twenty years younger, and a lot more virile._

"Yippee fucking skippee." I mutter under my breath.

"Dana, Sweetheart, it is rather apparent to us you are not handling your situation very well. However, I can assure you I have been to this island once before, a long time ago, and you will not be harmed. I think I know why we are all here. We are here to put an end to the bickering and begin anew. I just need to figure out a way to convince Fox that he need not go barging into that lodge, half cocked, for that would not do."

_‘Sweetheart’? Is he serious?_

That’s it for me. I have most definitely heard enough. Torn between ripping the guy a new asshole and running as far away as I possibly can, I look beyond him, and freeze as I see the others. Walking toward us. Toward me. Back from their little venture across the meadow.

I step backward. Slowly.

 _This is insane. Mulder, who is supposed to be dust by now, or at least well on his way; Monica, John and Walter, who are all supposed to me my dearest friends, are all looking at me as though_ **_I_ ** _am the one who’s crazy! Crazy for not accepting the things that cannot possibly be. Then, there’s Pendrell! He was petrified of Mulder! Why on God's green Earth would he be here with him? Why him and not Missy? If Missy were here, maybe then I could accept what ever the fuck is going on, but not Pendrell._

They continue to walk nearer, until they are standing among the other four figures on the beach. Next to the pig that has clearly finished cooking. If looking at its charred outer skin is any indication. That’s when I start screaming.

I scream like I have never screamed before. I scream until I have no voice left and no breath in which to articulate a word, even if I did.

Then, I run. Away from them; away from the waves crashing on the beach; away from the embankment; away from the meadow; just—away.

I run parallel to the water toward what appears to be a stand of palm trees. I barely make it into the lush landscape, before they fully realize I have fled and come after me. I keep on running; I care not where I am going, either. At this point, it appears not to matter anyway, since I’m convinced—now—I’m not merely dreaming.

I am living through the worst nightmare of my life.

Fully awake.

 _I have to be. In no part of my skeptic mind would I be able to make this shit up. Not even after all of those years I spent on the X-Files._

Mulder’s calling out my name. Pleading for me to stop. To please come back and listen to what he has to say. Promising me that he can explain. That he will help me to understand the reasons for our existence on this Godforsaken piece of the planet. At this point, I do not fucking care anymore. I just want to go home. I want to be in Georgetown and I want to have a 'caffeinated' cup of Hazelnut coffee. One that will be potent enough to assure me I will not fall asleep for a very long time, even if I’m not supposed to have it because of the baby.

 _What baby?_ My mind mocks.

I slow down to a brisk walk and look down at myself.

 _What baby, is right. There is no baby._

I stare at my left hand.

 _There is no ring. Not even a faint difference in the shade of my finger can be seen to indicate there ever was one. Oh God._

I realize I haven’t paid attention to my surroundings, as I have become too involved in my own physical attributes, or lack thereof, and I once again falter.

 _When the hell did I become so clumsy? I used to chase down Alien Bounty Hunters in three inch heels! Now, I can’t even manage to walk in tennis shoes?_

This time, I’m not so lucky as I fall down, and crack my back with my gun; rolling down a slight hill in the forest of palms I have taken refuge in, beside the ocean.

The pain is excruciating and I bite my lip to keep from screaming out. To keep from being caught. To keep from proving to myself, by the sting I feel, that I am conscious and not asleep. I lie on the ground, underneath the canopy of trees, and simply cry. That’s all there is left for me to do. All that I seem to be able to have control over. My tears.

 _Dana! Stop it! Get up! Start walking, running, anything! Just get up! Do not allow what ever power has taken over your life, to win! Damn it! Stand the fuck up!_ My rational side pleads with me, but I don’t want to listen to it. If I have truly gone insane, then my rational side is not to be trusted.

I do it anyway.

Sitting up, I can hear the others gaining ground, and I definitely do not want them to find me. If I am to live here on this fucking island, out in the middle of… _I don’t even know which ocean!_ … Then I will do it alone. I refuse to spend anymore time surrounded by those whom, I know for a fact, are dead.

 _So, Walter and the Doggetts are not dead where I come from, but they seem to be in cahoots with the non-living now, so they can just live without my presence too. If they don’t like them apples, tough shit!_

I wipe the tears from my face, as I suddenly find my resolve: a piece of my former tough-as-nails self. I remove my gun and slowly rise to my feet. If I am to stay here, I’ll need to find a place to sleep.

_Ha-ha, now that’s funny!_

As well as hide. I know there must be someplace around here, if what Ratbitch said is true.

That she has been here for years.

The remembrance of her brings to mind the memory of whom else I had seen in that building.

Kersh.

 _It figures._

Phoebe.

 _That bloody twit?_

Mr. Mulder.

_Guess Mulder was wrong about him after all._

X.

 _I always wondered just whose side he was on._

Marita.

 _Slut._

Kry…

_Okay, let us not even go there, shall we?_

I start walking toward my right. Deciding I should stay away from the water, for the time being, lest I be seen, I make my way deeper into the backdrop of greenery that surrounds me on three sides. As I continue my search for shelter, I notice there are birds singing high above me in the trees, and it dawns on me that….

"There might be other creatures on this island to be wary of. I already know there must be pigs about, but what else? This is a not-so-deserted island, right? Could there be much else? If so, how the fuck did they manage to get here? What is everyone in that lodge eating?”

I realize I’m rambling to myself out loud, and I look at my watch which, miraculously, is still on my left wrist.

 _Eleven thirty. Well, at least I have a few hours of daylight left to try to figure out what I am going to do for the rest of my time here._

"However the fuck long that is."

I walk about another half mile, certain I’m no longer being followed.

 _I wonder, what has happened to my firstborn son? If this is truly happening to me, is he gone? Like the life of my unborn child?_

I don’t really want to know the answers to my questions, therefore I push the image of my beautiful boy from my mind and continue to plod on; brushing the branches of trees out of my way. They seem to want to cling to and grab a hold of me.

Just when I start to ponder exactly how big this damn island is, I pass through the edge of the foliage into another meadow. It’s as gorgeous as the one that I had previously come across, with Supposed-to-be-Dead-Mulder, yet, there is one slight difference. Instead of one large building located at the far end of it, I find five.

 _Definitely smaller, but also, definitely here for a purpose._

I am beyond feeling any fear. At this point, I’m simply too pissed off. The fact I have, for some unknown reason, been plucked from my realm of a peaceful reality, and placed into this chaotic one, has given me enough anger to be able to deal with whatever else may cross my path.

Or so I like to tell myself.

I pick up my pace and start to cross the meadow. Suddenly feeling the urge to laugh, yet again, as I realize the only people who have not managed to find their way to me, in this alternate universe, are the Gunmen.

"I wonder what Frohike would say to his 'Pretty Lady' now?"

I silence my vocal cords, wondering if I may have just jinxed myself by mentioning to the nature that surrounds me, my paranoid friends.

The architecture of the five homes— _That has to be what they are, I mean, Spender's old groupies have to have a place to live while hiding out here, right?_ —Are identical to the large lodge I snuck up to just a short time ago, with only a few apparent differences. First off, they are smaller. Though not by much.

They are also clearly built in the Scandinavian Full-Scribe style— _I knew I knew what it was!_ —As the lodge. However, the knotty pine logs are a bit darker in color, and each roof is a different variation of forest green or slate grey. There is only a single door on the front of each house, rather than a double. A large picture window is set about two feet to the left of the door, while an octagon shaped glass window is set approximately five feet above the split-rail porch, three feet to the right. To the right of that, down another three feet, is a matching picture window to the one on the left. The second floor is similar to the lodge, with the dormer windows above the roof hanging over the porch.

The other major difference between these smaller homes, and the large lodge is that instead of two-story panes of glass taking up most of the sides, there are two picture windows on the first floor, and two matching windows above on the second story. I can easily assume the other sides match.

I make my way across the meadow and walk straight up to the front door of the nearest building at the farthest left end of the row of structures, with the forest green roof. The thing reminds of the Lincoln Logs I used to play with as a kid with Missy. I also feel as though I’ve chosen it out of the other four, almost as if by instinct.

 _Most likely because it’s the closest to the tree line, Dana. Should you need to make a hasty retreat._

Pulling my trusty Sig Sauer from behind my back, I quietly sneak up the wooden steps of the porch. Peeking through the picture window to the left of the door, it's just as I suspected. There seems to be no one home. I turn around to scan the area behind me, making sure no one is watching, and turn the knob on the door. Not really surprised, I find that it turns easily.

 _Almost as if it knew I would be coming._

_Knock it off, you are starting to sound as paranoid as Mulder used to be._

Taking one last glance around, I walk through the door and quickly shut and lock it behind me. Turning toward the interior of the room I gasp. Again.

 _Damn, what is it with me? Since when did things have the ability to surprise me so easily?_ I question myself, as I gawk at my new surroundings.

The structure may appear to be a two story from the outside, but it is in fact, only one large level. The extra space where the second story should be is taken up by gorgeous cinnamon-stained knotty pine paneling with six, beautifully crafted mahogany-stained thirty-foot beams of the same material. Each one appearing to be a foot in diameter and placed exactly five feet from the next, with a set of three cross beams, one set every ten feet, to complete the symmetry. Even the flooring is made of knotty pine in the same cinnamon color, as the paneling.

 _Damn._

Hanging from the first and third beams are two dazzling, copper and lead-crystal chandeliers. Looking around I see, set into the far wall, a large sliding glass door, leading out to another porch, and the meadow. To my right, across the massive living room, is the largest fireplace mantle and hearth I have ever laid my eyes on. It looks to be made of white marble for the sides and hearthstone, while the mantle is the richest mahogany. Above the fireplace is an antique, ornate, copper rectangular mirror. The marble chimney rises to meet the ceiling, approximately twenty feet, and is set against a one story half-wall. The rest of the space above the wall is left open, allowing a person to see the beams extending beyond the living room. The room is also beautifully decorated with various antiques. They blend well with the dark-colored logs and light-colored pine of the home and are practically begging me to walk across the room to touch them.

"No wonder they hide out here!" I reply to the empty house, as I slip my weapon back into its holster.

Turning my head in the opposite direction, I find a kitchen which can only be described as a Michelin chef’s wet dreams come true. The cabinetry is made from the same rich mahogany as the mantle… _A little dark for a kitchen under normal circumstances, but then again, has anything been normal today? I think not…,_ with inlaid panes of etched glass in the top set lining the wall. Plus, the darkness of the wood adds to the overall look, rather than overrun it.

To the far left, embedded in the cabinetry, is a black commercial-size side-by-side refrigerator and freezer. Two feet of white marble countertop run right from there, where a black faucet and matching marble double sink is enclosed in the center, underneath yet another picture window—with another great view of the meadow. Located in the cabinetry below and to the lower right of the sink is a black dishwasher. Still more white marble leads from the sink into an L-shape and ends at a double oven residing in its own home in the wall at the far right of the mahogany cabinets.

 _If I had that kitchen, we would never eat out again._

If I were to be standing at the window and turn around, I would find myself facing a large island that sets in the middle of the kitchen space.

 _Great, just can't seem to get away from that concept, can I?_

It is made of the same rich wood as the cabinets with another white marble top. A little to the left of center is set a black flat top stove, complete with a small grill just off to its left. On the right side of the stove is a two foot section of butcher block, without so much as a scratch on it. The stove must vent from the bottom, as there is only empty air above the cooking area.

_Most likely to keep the view unobstructed._

The only major appliance that appears to be missing is a microwave, which I quickly spot set in the corner of the L-shaped counter. To its right is a black and stainless steel Bunn coffee maker. On the left, a cutlery block with the finest set of knives available.

To complete the ensemble, there is a bar set out about four feet from the island into the living space, made of the same dark knotted-pine logs that hold up the ceiling of the house and the same white marble surface. Along the bar set matching white leather and mahogany counter-height bar stools. 

_I’m afraid to even think about what the master suite must look like. Good Lord._

Before I can allow myself to give into the inevitable sadness that tries to envelope me, as I wonder what is real, and what is fantasy, I step further into the house and decide to find the restroom. Taking a few hesitant steps toward the living room, I try to figure out where it might be located. Pulling my gun once more, and holding it out in front of me in the position to shoot, if I must, I quietly make my way across the plush, two-inch-thick white… _White? Who the hell puts white carpet in their living room? That is just asking for trouble!…_ Carpeting remnants, and find what has to be the largest bedroom ever to be constructed, off to the right, beyond the fireplace.

Entering through the partially open set of dark knotted-pine framed glass French doors, complete with curved solid copper handles; I’m flabbergasted at the richness of the place. The beams of the ceiling run through the narrow wall between the living room and the master suite, and from the center one hangs three more copper chandeliers. The floor is a continuation from the living room; cinnamon pine.

Suddenly aware of the fact my shoes may be dirty from my trek through the trees, I actually find myself bending down to slip them off, and laugh at the complete absurdity of the act. _This is a Syndicate hideout for Christ’s sake!_ After fulfilling this surreal display of respect, I set my sneakers down just inside the doorway where I stand and continue to drink in the images of wealth and apparent stature invading my sense of sight.

_How a criminal is allowed to deserve a suite like this is beyond me!_

I automatically know this place is the retreat for at least one of the people I saw in the lodge.

"Definitely not Ratbitch though, not if she wants to leave so badly.” I mumble aloud, as I bypass the four-poster— _Canopied!_ —California King (also made of dark wood and dressed in white), in favor of the bathroom off to the right, before I make the mistake of having an accident all over the pristine floor.

Taking a bold, albeit wary, step forward; I walk toward the solid wood door, and step inside. The floors and walls are the same as the rest of the house, and the long mahogany vanity is covered in more white marble embedded with two matching black sinks and faucets, as well as a mirror that runs the full length of the wall with copper globe lights alighting it. There is also an absolutely massive tub. Not surprising at this point; made of white marble.

_Good grief, just how much money do those in the business of wetwork actually make? Whomever lives here definitely has a taste for the premium things available in life._

It’s oval in shape, and stands directly underneath the octagon window I’d seen from the front porch. It is also clear that it can hold two people. A matching glass and marble shower is at one end; complete with multiple black shower heads, and a seating bench. While a small room leading to the toilet is on the other. Perfect, because I have already dilly-dallied for too long.

_Wait, do people go to the bathroom in their dreams? Fuck. That must mean that this really is reality. If that’s true, than oh my is it tempting to simply lock the bathroom door, and take advantage of this whole room._

"Sure, if I want it to be the last thing I ever do, should I be caught, literally, naked. Plus, no matter if this is a dream, or not, I got to go through the door to the toilet room. Can’t be leaving DNA all over the place, because of being stupid.”

Entering the room, I’m not surprised to find a black marble ensemble, and carefully place my weapon down onto the tank lid. Simultaneously I shut the door, and flick on the copper light switch; immediately bathed in bright light. Unusual for a bathroom, but then again… wow, there is a damn chandelier hanging from a beam in the ceiling.

_Makes me think that whomever lives here is afraid of the dark._

Suddenly feeling immensely incongruous, I hurry the hell up, and vacate the damn room as soon as possible. Also, feeling stupid for keeping my weapon in my hand in an empty house, I put it back, and make my way back out toward the bedroom once more.

The room runs the entire width of the house, and for the first time I notice there is a smaller fireplace that matches the one from the living room. Upon closer inspection the damn bed is covered in a white silk, down-filled comforter.

_Ten bucks says the sheets are silk too!_

The pillows set atop the comforter, look to be quite firm and are also encased in white silk. On either side of the bed are identical mahogany nightstands, each holding a lamp made of copper with shades made of white glass.

 _With so much white, this must be Phoebe's house. Yet...Yet there is something about it, the ambiance… it feels so…._

"Familiar." I whisper.

Walking toward the bed, I look up and notice two ceiling fans, hanging from the second and fourth beams. They, too, are made from mahogany and have tulip shaped white glass shades over flute-tipped bulbs. Feeling more and more like the intruder I am, I take in the rest of the room and walk over to what must be an antique: a hand-carved mahogany armoire.

The carvings are beautiful and depict a scene much like the one I saw from the windows on the other side of the home. Trees, wildflowers, and a meadow. It has a single deer grazing in it. I find myself reaching out to touch it. The wood is smooth and so beautifully crafted. Part of me also wants to see who’s clothes may be ensconced inside.

 _There are no deer where I have found myself to have been taken._

This thought strikes me hard and dropping my hand, I turn to gaze out of the picture windows built into the wall behind me. Unnerved, I actually take note of the view for the first time since I entered the room looking for a place to pee. From the higher windows, is a blue sky, and white puffy clouds. Yet, from the windows directly across from where I stand, I can see the ocean.

_Of course, yes, I am on an island, so that would be expected, but to truly see the far horizon, beyond the beach, is unsettling. There is nothing out there. No landmarks to give me any hint, as to where I possibly am. Might it truly mean that Mulder was right?_

"I am out in the middle of nowhere. This is not a dream." I answer quietly, to the empty room. "It can't be a dream, the details are too intense. Too intricately woven."

I start to shiver and sit down on the bed; continuing to stare off into the distance over the hand-carved headboard of the bed.

_Also in the design of a meadow with deer. This time an entire herd._

The knowledge that my family is gone is an extremely difficult fact for me to grasp.

 _We both fought tooth and nail to make sure our marriage is a happy one. Everyone thought I was crazy to marry; especially so soon after Mulder's death. Then, came the death of Mom. But damn it, we love each other. Hell, if anything, their deaths only helped me to solidify in my mind we must take chances where happiness is concerned. It was a blessing from God it turned out we truly fit perfectly together. In every sense of the word. That we are, in fact…._

"Soul mates." I whisper.

Suddenly, I can’t stop the flow of tears, as I think about our son. The boy he did not create, but still molded into a fine young man. The boy he accepted as his own from the start. The boy whom has never heard him say a single ill word about his dead father. Not even in a rare bit of anger.

"He is gone, too. No more pleading with him to hurry up and finish his breakfast in the morning, so that we are not late for work and school. No more telling him to turn down his music or to complete his homework, before he could play his video games. No more baseball games. No more telling them both to stop roughhousing in the living room, before they break something. No more….”

I am unable to contain my sobs, as I remove my gun and lay across the bed that is not my own, no matter how badly I want it to be. I curl into the fetal position I have wanted to be in, ever since I "woke up" on the beach, and in doing so, am reminded of what else I have lost.

 _Our baby. Our miracle. Both of our children gifts from God. Though we are still—even with the leaps and bounds the field of medicine has accomplished in eleven years—unable to explain their existence. We have never given a damn about that, though. Not the how’s or the whys. Just that they are. That is all that matters to us. His birth would have made our family complete. Now?_

"Now he is gone, too."

I close my eyes, praying to whatever God rules 'this' world to please allow me to simply die. If I can’t have my family, I don’t want to continue on. I cannot continue on. There is no reason to do so. Yes, Mulder is now by my side; well, here on this island anyway, once more. Something that I used to pray for, a long time ago.

But I also let him go, a long time ago.

I am unable to deal with him now. I’m a different person. He seems to be the same. I am no longer simply “Scully”. I no longer know how to appear fearless or uncaring. I can’t hide my feelings from anyone who matters to me. Not anymore. I learned, the hard way, I must express myself to those I love, or risk the chance of never being able to. Like I lost the chance to say one more time to Mom.

Like I lost the chance with Mulder.

 _Is this supposed to be a second chance?_

I feel hollow.

_I don’t want it. It’s too late to grasp things that could have happened, but didn’t. He died. I chose to live. He would have wanted me to do that, right? Right? Am I really destined to be on an island with members of the Syndicate, our mothers and Spender as my step-father? He is Mulder’s father! Shit, that would actually make Mulder and me… step-siblings._

_Gross!_

I close my eyes; wrapping my arms around myself to keep from sobbing into nothingness. Finally accepting I truly am awake, and on a deserted island in the middle of who the fuck knows where. Thus, should I fall asleep, the dreams I may have will be just that. Only dreams.

Dreams of the life I know in my heart I had. But, for some unholy reason has been ripped from me.

Slipping into the abyss of depression, I am only vaguely aware that my being caught here, in this place, in this striking house, could prove damning.

 _But, I don't really give a fuck. At least the bed is comfortable._

Pulling my legs in tight to my chest, I start bawling to the empty room. In the room that is not mine. In the room my endearing husband will never find me. Not if he is truly gone, in the way I know him to be. This time, my rational side seems to agree with me, for it has not reminded me to get up. To stand up and fight.

"They win. I quit." I concede, quietly.

Moments later—or at least what feels like only moments later—though I can see by way of the darkness that surrounds me that hours have actually passed me by, I am startled from my thoughts of despair. By the sounds of another person entering the house.

Instantly alert, I grab my gun from the comforter behind me, and then quietly settle myself down on the floor next to the bed; opposite the doorway. Amazingly, I find myself doubting my capabilities to protect myself. It has been a long time since I have been in such a precarious position.

 _Damn it! I don’t need to! He is always there! Always my protector, should I need one. Though he has always respected my independence, his love allowed me to break down the walls, and give someone else the job of looking out for me. Not as a partner, but as a person. Not that marriage and a family have turned me into a wimp. Far from it. But, nonetheless, I haven’t fought anything, alone, in ten years! We always fight our battles, together._

_Damn it, Dana! Stop it! He is not here! You have to do this, so stop thinking about him and look after yourself!_

I release the safety on my gun, acutely aware I may even have to use it. Not an idea I find too terribly pleasing. I am a doctor. I save lives. I don’t take them away. As I sit, I contemplate what I should do next.

 _Get up and face whomever lives here? Demand to know the answers to the questions I have swarming through my mind? Or simply wait? Wait until, whoever it may be, walks into the bedroom and then confront him or her?_

"This fucking sucks!" I whisper vehemently.

Just when I’m about to stand; to leave my safe position and act like the agent I was in my former life— _And apparently in this world, too._ — I see a shadow from the moonlight cross the path of the center window, and then fall upon me.

_Shit! Now I have to deal with someone both inside, and outside the damn house._

Hating everything that has happened since I found myself here, I realize I am not as safe as I thought, and it pisses me off. If I can see the shadow, then there is a large chance; I too, can be seen. Then, a voice yells from outside in the meadow and the words make my blood run cold.

“Skinman! She’s in the house! We have to storm the place! Now!"

 _Fuck! It’s Mulder. It was his shadow I had seen._

"Figures."

 _He always was able to find me. But, why doesn't he simply get it? That this time I have no desire to be found?_

Well, it must forever be my destiny, from what Mulder screamed to Walter.

 _Nice way to be subtle there, Mulder. Screaming, while trying to maintain your position. I guess you're not as good as you used to be. How is it you can call him 'Skinman' and he doesn't rebuke you? What the fuck am I thinking? He is dead! He has been dead for years! What does it matter?_

_Must we go back over this day once more, Dana?_ Quips my rational side.

“Shut up.”

I cautiously leave my position near the bed, and move away from the windows, though I really don’t have anywhere else to hide. I again wonder which home of the groupies, I have actually stumbled into. I look around the room once more, this time not in awe, but as an investigator.

 _I must try to figure out whose house this is, as it could give me an advantage. I hope._ _Knowing whom the home belongs to might aid me in my strategy to escape. Whom to be on the look out for._

_Deputy Director Kersh?_

_Could be, the place is meticulously neat. But, no. It’s too white. A man like Kersh would most likely be a 'red' type of guy._

_X?_

_I don't know. I only knew him briefly. It could be, but, then again. I really can’t picture the elusive man relaxing in a tub of that size. He always seemed entirely too tense to partake of the soothing qualities it would bring._

_That would leave Bill Mulder or Diana—even if she does want to leave. Then again, I can relate. Well, that was a nauseating thought; agreeing with the Ratbitch about something._

_Focus! It could be any one of their homes, damn it._

_Shit, and I forgot all about Alex and Marita, too. They would definitely like all the white, I’m sure. I absolutely know it can’t be that of Spender. Not if he is… married to my mother._

"Oh God, I’m going to be sick."

I swiftly, yet silently, make a break through the bedroom; back to the bathroom. I hear nothing, so my best hope is that the homeowner—whomever it may be—is in the kitchen; allowing me to throw up in their fine marble toilet, without being caught.

 _Or you could just walk out there and throw up on him or her. Talk about the element of surprise!_

I almost laugh at my own joke.

Almost.

Instead, I race through the bathroom (careful not to fall on my ass, because I belatedly realize I am still in only my socks) and grasp the handle of the small lavatory door, lean over, and… dry heave.

_At least there aren’t any chicken bits coming out of me. To float in the toilet and mock me._

_Yes, thank God for small favors._

Standing, I feel like utter shit. Tired. Nauseous. Confused. My nap apparently didn’t help one bit, and I wish I could wash my damn hands, but I’m afraid of both making noise, and ruining the pale blue towels that I saw earlier near one of the double sinks.

_Pale blue towels? With all the white in the rest of the house?_

_This is bullshit, Dana! Come on! You don’t have time to ponder the fucking towels! Get out there; face the music, whatever that may be. Just get moving! You can't spend the rest of this, whatever the fuck it is, leaning against a pine wall, gazing at a bowl of water!_

I know my rational side is correct. I can’t stay here. Especially if Mulder is outside, and someone else is in the house. I have never felt so trapped in my life. Not even when I was tied up by Donnie Pfaster, and that’s saying something.

 _At least then I was able to kill the bastard. Now? Now I am not even sure who is the enemy. Of course, the supposed-to-be-long-dead members of the Syndicate. But. Can I still trust Mulder? Can I even trust the Doggetts or Walter?_

"Fuck it. If I die, I die. At least then I won't be forced to be here; in whatever dimension I have found myself in, any longer."

With my resolve renewed, I quietly walk out of the little room and into the spacious bathroom. Quickly glancing around me to make sure that I am still alone, I make my way across the wood floor to the main doors. Silently, I lean down, and push my feet back into my shoes. Thankfully, I’d taken them off on this side of the damn door. Resting against the wall, I peek through the glass to see if I can locate the person I know to be inside. I can’t.

_How odd. I could swear I heard someone just a few moments ago._

I pull the door nearest me open about three inches, and listen. While I hear nothing, there is a slight breeze coming from the direction of the front door. Almost as if it’s ajar. As if the owner has walked back outside, onto the porch. Feeling reasonably safe, I leave the bedroom, and walk slowly into the now brightly lit living area; keeping myself low to the ground, lest anyone see me through any of the damn windows that seem to suddenly permeate the walls.

A gunshot rings out, startling me, and I throw myself to the floor behind the leather recliner; my gun out in front of me, aimed and ready.

 _Wow, just like riding a bike!_ I muse.

Peering up through the hair that is now in my face, I hastily shake it out of the way, and look out the windows across the room over the nearby leather couch, but I can see nothing. The light from the living room hinders me, and I suddenly feel like I am in a fucking fishbowl. In an effort to figure out what the hell is going on, I rise to my feet in a squat and scurry around the chair and across the wood to the adjacent wall to the left of the front door. As I rise to my full height, I accidentally bump my head on a large canvas hanging there. Moving away slightly, I can literally feel my eyes widen and my pupils dilate when I take in the image. My breath hitches, as my gun, again, drops from my hand to the beautiful floor, while I stare in shock. All thoughts of staying quiet and hidden forgotten.

"Oh my God.” I whisper in horror; gaping open mouthed at the exquisite painting of an angel with pearl-colored wings. “No. Please. No! This can’t be real!"

I now know without a doubt whom the home belongs to and I must flee. Flee from what I know isn’t real. Cannot be real. Flee from what the implications might be, if it is.

I hear another six shots ring out, and instinctively picking up my gun from the damn floor, I race outside through the door. No longer caring about the danger that may befall me. As I run out onto the porch, in full view of anyone, I spot John and Monica. They have taken positions on either side of me, at the ends of the porch.

"Dana!" Monica responds.

“Agent Scully! Are you okay?" John asks. “We were just inside looking for you. Where were you?”

I’m unable to respond to them, as I take in the sight of the events unfolding in front of my stunned eyes.

They are all out there; standing in the meadow.

All of my enemies.

All of my loved ones.

 _Well, almost all._

They are holding guns on each other. Kersh; Marita; Bill Mulder; Phoebe; X and Diana on one side.

My mother, who looks madder than I have ever seen her in my existence; Spender; Teena Mulder; Deep Throat, and Pendrell on the other. There is only about fifteen feet between them.

“They are facing off! Christ! But why? Where are the others?” I ask aloud to myself, looking around the dark meadow; frantically needing to locate them.

John and Monica make their way toward me and I cry out in anger; swerving between the two and pointing my gun at them, while holding up my free hand.

"No! Stop right where you are! Don't come fucking near me!"

"But, Scully, we are here to protect you. To save you." John replies, ignoring my stance.

“I’m not in any need of your kind of saving, John. Especially if that son of a bitch Spender is married to my mother! There is only one man who could save me and he is…." I stop protesting, as I catch sight of a shadow coming from around the side of the house to my right.

 _Walter?_ “Walter!”

He pays no heed to me, other than a slight nod, as he sprints across the meadow to join up with Pendrell.

“Dana? Are you all right?” Monica asks in a worrying tone. “You’re starting to scare me.”

“Of course I’m not all right, Mon! This is ludicrous! Most of these people are already dead! Why are they doing this? What the fuck is happening! How the hell did everyone end up here? On this fucking island?”

"The Island of X." I whisper to myself, realizing as I look around that most of those, hell, all of those that surround me, are from my days long ago, when I worked on the X-Files.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?” I scream, startling everyone into staring in my direction. “None of you are supposed to be here! I shut down the X-Files after Mulder died! I wanted nothing to do with this crazy shit anymore! I wanted a normal life!” I gasp, as I realize what I am saying.

"Maybe **that** is why you’re here. Maybe your normal life has been just that. Too normal." Monica tries to rationalize; sounding for all the world like my mother. Who is standing across from me in that damn meadow, and staring at me like she’s never seen me before.

"No! I refuse to believe that!" I scream, panicked by her words. Then, I hear his voice. The voice of my dreams of long ago. When I knew they were just that. Dreams.

"Scully! There you are!" Mulder says, sounding relieved, as he walks closer; making his way passed John, up to my side.

I will have none of this though. I have already had more than enough. I start to quickly move away from them, much to their dismay, as I hurry down the porch steps; scanning the area around me. Watching everyone and their movements, as if witnessing a bad B movie, from the inside, as I head backward toward the trees. Then, turning to make a run for it, I catch sight of another figure, and pull myself up short. He walks casually across the meadow from those same trees that I had so recently escaped through, as though it’s an everyday occurrence.

Alex Krycek.

The man of my ancient nightmares.

He’s walking toward the house, switching his attention between holding his right hand to his neck, as though to stop the blood that I can see trickling from it, and peering at it to see if it’s still bloody. Most likely he received a cut from his trek through the trees.

Not wanting to be caught in the middle of whatever the fuck is going on behind me, and which he is about to walk into, I instantly crouch down into the shadows of the landscape. Noticing, in the faint light, he has a look of sorrow on his face. I also know, instinctively, he has not seen me.

I watch in continued silence, as he lets go of his neck; takes in the scene around him; pulls his gun from around his back; and raises it. He starts screaming toward the group. Words I find myself understanding, but on an entirely different level.

"Why can’t all of you just leave me in peace? Hell, I don’t even know some of you, yet here you are. It makes no fucking sense. Why did any of you come to this place? There is no reason for any of you to be here!"

Yes, I must agree with him. There is no reason for me to be here, either. The bickering that Spender had spoken of earlier had ended, both with his death and with Mulder's. So what is going on?

"Mulder?" I whisper. Turning my attention to my former partner, I truly gaze at him for the first time since he came up to me on the beach. I see the same face of the man I considered my touchstone. My rock, until he was taken from me.

It took me a long time to forgive God for that.

He has the same lock of hair falling casually across his forehead. In fact, everything about him is the same. Eerily so. It’s as though no time has passed at all when I look at him. As though he was frozen in time. He’s wearing a suit once more. Gone are the jeans and tee shirt he wore this morning. He’s aiming his gun at Alex, like so long ago, too.

I ache when I realize I feel as though history is repeating, and I can’t do a fucking thing about any of it. This time I can’t simply shoot Mulder in the shoulder to keep him from killing Alex; even as I rise from the ground and make my way back toward the house, I’m too far away to be of much use to anyone.

_Why is this happening? Things are different now. This doesn’t make any sense. Mulder is dead. I finally put him to rest. Mom, too. They are at peace. Walter and the Doggetts are alive. I’m happily married with a family, now. Why am I trapped in this godforsaken nightmare?_

“I don’t know why the rest of these people are here, but I am because I had to come back, Krycek! I came for what should have been mine! I want my life back!"

I startle when I hear Mulder scream back responses to the questions that were posed to the group as a whole.

 _I want my life back, too! Who the hell is he to talk about life? He has no idea of the anguish I have been through, in the course of the last few hours!_

Nor does he seem to care, as he simply looks at me across the grass, and grimaces while rolling his eyes. Almost as though he is ashamed of me for jumping at his words.

"I can't believe this guy. You would think he would understand what I mean."

“Why would he, Mulder? I don't understand any of this shit, myself." I state simply, glaring at him, as well as counting the paces between the two men and myself. Wondering if I indeed will need to shoot him in the shoulder. Again.

He stares with his mouth open; shocked I would say such a thing to him. While at the same time, Alex turns toward my voice.

Taking a chance I know I may regret, I step forward into the beams of light that fall from the still-open doorway and all the windows in the front wall, and walk toward Mulder's enemy with my gun pointed at the ground. I watch his eyes intently, as first recognition, and then astonishment, play across his face. Just as I reach his side, all hell breaks loose.

Guns start going off all around me, and Alex pushes me to the ground. He then crouches over me, with his gun raised to keep everyone else at bay; refusing to allow me to get back up. Mulder takes a step toward us with his gun still trained on the man hovering in my space, then….

“No.”

It’s the only word Alex says.

“But.…” Mulder whines.

“No.”

Thus, while he’s forced me to watch the scene unfold around us and not be permitted to participate, Mulder lowers his own weapon and says nothing more.

_Okay._

Instead of fighting either of them, I tap on Alex’s arm to get him to move a bit; sit up; fold my legs together; place my Sig in the grass nearby; and stare out at the meadow at the absurdity of the moment.

_It can’t really get any weirder, can it?_

That’s when my mother shoots Marita in the chest, and then Diana through the middle of her forehead; causing the Ratbitch to fall to the ground like a stone. Bill Mulder takes a shot of his own and takes out Deep Throat—much to Teena Mulder's dismay; forcing her to fire at her former husband and put a bullet through his chest. Phoebe pulls her own trigger and sends a bullet flying across the field, hitting her own target, Mulder's mother.

Walter takes advantage of the raucous and shoots at Kersh, who fires back, but misses. Walter then shoots at him again, and Kersh falls: dead. I start shaking my head and trying to analyze what is taking place.

_I don’t understand! What is going on here? Why are all of these people—already dead in my world—killing each other? Some of these people never even met each other!_

I close my eyes, trying to dispel the image of the fight taking place before me. I then realize what I just saw, and open them quickly, while turning my head to stare up at Mulder.

 _Oh shit! What is he going to do?_

As I watch him watch the deaths of his mother and father, Mulder loses his own control and takes off from beside me, running full tilt toward Phoebe. He puts a bullet not only into her, but into X as well, who was just about to kill Pendrell, but had turned to protect his lover, and mistakenly, X hits my mother, as he dies.

 _NO! MOM!_ I hurry to my feet, only to start struggling against Alex, who grabs me to keep me from following Mulder into the foray. But, struggling is no use. He refuses to let me go. “Please.”

“No. I can’t let you out there.”

I close my eyes in defeat; willing myself out of this fucking torturous nightmare, and sink back to the grass. However, they open immediately, almost with a will of their own, and my sight falls onto Pendrell.

He is full of an all consuming hatred and turns his gun on Spender, shouting: "You did this! You bastard! Your marriage got Dana's mother killed!"

I can tolerate this no longer. None of this makes any sense.

“But, my mother died in a hit and run accident!” I scream, only to find that no one can hear me. They are all too involved in the war at hand.

While watching this unreal display of marksmanship and rage, I realize the man who had been standing over me, only a few scant minutes ago, is no longer doing so, but has instead disappeared. In his stead, Monica and John are on guard duty. Turning away from them, I search with bated breath as best as I can in my current position, and finally locate him. How he got to where he is so fast boggles my mind, though I shouldn’t be surprised at this point. I start rising to go after him, and Monica pins me to the ground.

“He told me to watch over you, Dana. I can’t let you do anything.”

“Let me go, Monica!”

“No.”

I start to panic. “Monica, I have to go!”

He is too open, standing clear out on the other side of the meadow; holding his hands to his eyes, as if he, too, is trying to remove the images of what is taking place from his mind. Walter notices him and heads in his direction.

Still pinned on the ground, I start screaming—hysterical. “Leave me the fuck alone!” I demand, beating my fists up against my best friend. “Please!” Begging her to allow me to stand. To fight. To protect. "God damn it, Monica! Let me up!"

"No, it’s for your own good!"

"Fuck you! You don’t realize what’s happening! You weren’t around! You don’t even know who half these people are— _Were!_ — Now, let me up, before so help me God, I put a bullet in you!"

"Let her up, Monica." I hear John tell his wife. He must finally understand that there are other, more important things to deal with, such as joining in the apparent battle between good and evil.

At once she heeds the words of her husband, and I leap to my feet, gun in hand and take off across the grass after Walter; needing to end this madness, as fast as I possibly can.

 _Halfway there; then we can hide in the trees._

"Scully!" I hear Mulder scream out at me from somewhere behind me in the meadow, though I have no idea where. Out of an old habit I thought I had long ago buried; I pay heed to his voice and slow down, but don’t stop. I am no longer able to quite see where I’m going, yet I still feel the overwhelming urge to keep moving forward. To find them before having to witness someone else I love die, from the insanity around me.

_Damn it, they were just across the meadow from where I was! Where are they?_

I can hear Pendrell and Mulder running toward me from the assemblage of corpses that now lay in front of the glorious house I will always remember. In whatever life I will lead. Behind them, John and Monica sprint hastily, also trying to catch up to me, as well. I finally stop moving.

 _Fuck it. It doesn’t matter anymore, anyway._

I jump as Walter and Alex walk out of the trees on my left. Both looking the worse for wear, they also start making their way to my side. I want to run forward, but refrain. Conflicted, I also want to run away, anywhere, as far and as fast, as I possibly can, but I don’t. I can’t. I’m paralyzed in place, unable to understand what is happening, and I don’t know if I even want to understand anymore.

 _I don't know if I even care._

Suddenly, comprehension hits me like a ton of bricks, and I sway, my eyelids snapping closed with the force of my awareness.

Slowly opening my eyes, I gather my resolve and stand in place; looking around at everyone coming near me. I have had the stunning realization that, apart from my sons; most of these people do belong near me. Belong in my 'other' life. However, I have no time to reflect on this, nor on what it could possibly mean to me, now, as I look over John's shoulder and see Cancer Man.

He is walking toward us, hunched over from the bullet wound in his abdomen, courtesy of Pendrell.

 _Cancer Man. Spender. Mulder's ‘black-lunged-son-of-a-bitch' father. The man who made my life a living hell. The man who took almost everything I held sacred away from me._

The others must notice the expression on my face change, for they all spread out and flank me, on both sides, and stare at the same evil incarnate. Pendrell is wicked pissed.

"Damn it! Why can't you just die?" I hear him ask, while reaching for his gun.

"Well, well. Isn't this a pretty sight? The Gang is all here, isn't it, Dana?"

Pendrell freezes and I gasp, wondering what the hell he could possibly mean. Then, I wonder why the hell I would even give a damn.

 _Only four._ My brain suddenly calculates. _Only four, belong._

I squeeze my eyes shut against the sudden onslaught of nausea I feel wanting to creep up my esophagus. I swallow hard. "Oh God.” I murmur.

"Shut up you black-lunged-son-of-a-bitch!" Mulder demands. “Can’t you see how you’re upsetting her?”

 _Didn't I just think that?_ I ponder, as I open my eyes, my queasiness slightly easing.

"Fox, such words to describe your father."

"You are not my father! You are nothing but a piece of shit! Just like him!" He spits out; pointing to his other adversary, who in turn is moving, briskly, away from him.

From us.

My eyes widen, as I listen to Mulder's words and I feel as though I am standing on the edge of a precipice. I have finally figured out where I am.

"I am in the fucking Twilight Zone.” I state, matter of factly. “Now, I just need to find Rod. Maybe he’s back in one of those other houses.”

All of them turn toward me, even Alex, who stopped walking away at my words, and they stare as though I have grown a second head. As though I have spoken out of turn and broken some unwritten rule. Some rule in some game I have no desire to partake of any longer.

 _Nope. Too fucking much. I’m done._

Unable to tolerate what’s happening around me any longer, I swiftly holster my Sig and make a break for it.

Surprising them all, I race passed Spender; almost knocking him down as I do, and run back across the meadow toward the house. The beautiful house that had felt so calming. The one place on this fucking island which gave me the only bit of peace I have been allowed, since waking up on the beach. Forgetting the reason I had fled the house in the first place, I run up the steps.

"Scully!" Mulder calls after me, as he too, starts running.

The others follow suit, and I feel like I am moving in slow motion.

Across the porch.

“Agent Scully!" John yells.

Through the front door.

"Dana! Please stop!" Monica screams.

Through the living room.

"Scully!" Walter yells. "Stop!"

I run into the bedroom; ignoring his voice.

A gunshot rings out and I run faster.

"Agent Scully! Stop!" Pendrell shouts out from somewhere behind me.

 _He must have finished his job on Spender._ I realize.

"Scully!" They all seem to say, collectively.

I don’t even hear them anymore. I can only think of fleeing.

_All I want to do is lie down in that lovely bed, and forget I exist!_

Upon entering the haven of the bedroom, I abruptly run right into someone and come to a forced halt. I find myself staring up into a pair of smoldering, yet sad, pools of emerald green.

"Let me guess,” He replies softly, peering into my own— _pale blue! Oh my God!_ —Eyes. "You forgot about the sliding-glass door in the living room? I told you I’d always have your back.”

I simply stand there, stock still, staring into his face; terrified to speak for fear of what may happen if I do. Tears come to my eyes unbidden, as my knees begin to fall out from under me and as I start to wobble, he reaches out to gently grab ahold of me.

Everyone else, then comes running into the large bedroom. Mulder abruptly stops, upon seeing his arch-rival, and everyone else gapes at me, as if waiting for something to happen. Waiting for me to do something.

 _What am I supposed to do? Please God! Let me wake up! I can’t handle any more of this bullshit!_

"Come on, Scully. It’s time to go home." Mulder states.

Turning within Alex’s arms, I lean back into his chest, and he wraps them comfortably around me. Finally feeling secure for the first time since I woke, and ignoring both Mulder’s outstretched hand, and look of absolute shock, I finally let go of the anger I’ve stifled all of this horrid day.

"Home, Mulder? Where I come from, you no longer live! You are dead! Remember? I told you that this morning on the beach! None of this can possibly be fucking happening! Don't you understand? There is no home that you could take me to! YOU ARE NOT REAL!” I realize I’m shouting, but I no longer care.

“She was asleep for quite awhile, so she’s still out of it.” Mulder replies calmly, repeating his earlier diagnosis from this morning to the others, as if it will explain away the reason as to why I am so fucked up, and thus resisting going with him.

I’m unable to grasp his lack of comprehension. I don’t know what else to do. There is nowhere left for me to run. Then, I remember the painting. My motivation for fleeing the house, and I recognize exactly what he means by, 'Home'.

 _Sweet Jesus!_

He moves toward me and then stops, as he watches me go limp in shock, pulling Alex with me to the floor in front of the white-silk covered bed. Lying on our left sides, I’m too stunned at my discovery to argue anymore, but Mulder will have to fight to get to me. Alex’s arms are closed around me, and I can’t see him releasing me anytime soon. I’m so shaken by exactly what I have realized; why I am surrounded by people, whom I know love me, yet have refused to help me. With the exception of one.

Why I have found myself surrounded by those that do and do not, belong in my life.

 _NO! NO! NO!_ My mind screams in denial.

However, I am so tired. I feel myself about to plunge into the blackness of oblivion, and I reach out blindly for Alex’s hands. “Alex?”

He squeezes in return, and whispers: “Hold on, Dana. Please. I’ve got you, baby.”

I turn to look over at him, and smile. Then, unexpectedly, Pendrell simply disappears. I can only hear the others, and then, Mulder diminishes away too, only to be replaced by….

A smiling angel.

"No!" I cry out. Squeezing Alex’s hands with all of my remaining energy; fighting now to stay alert, to not give in to the fatigue. "Please! It isn't time!” I plead, as I feel myself being drawn from my safe-haven, and into a sudden bright light that fills the room.

"Dana?"

 _Monica?_

"Day, can you hear me?"

 _She is speaking to me, but it sounds as though her voice is coming from a long distance. Why?_

“Mon? Where’s Mulder? Keep him from Alex. He wouldn’t understand.” I try to open my eyes, but find myself unable to do so. It hurts too much.

"How is she?"

 _John._

"It’s hard to know. She’s calling for Alex, but not making much sense otherwise. She mentioned Mulder. Several times.”

“What?”

“Yes, I don’t understand it, either. She want’s us to keep him away from Alex. Do you know what she’s talking about?”

“No, but Walter might.”

I force open my eyes against the light and find myself staring, blearily, from a bed. I’m trying to focus on the voices, but my heart is racing, and I try to rise, to take in what is happening around me, but my guts feel like they are on fire, and the light is too bright. I immediately shut them, and take a deep breath to prevent myself from vomiting before falling back to the bed.

 _Damn ceiling fans!_ I think, remembering how they hang from the ceiling in the bedroom. _How did I end up here? Where did Alex go? We were on the floor, together. Why does my abdomen hurt?_

These thoughts, however, do not ease my tension. Or fear. On the other hand, I’m too tired to deal with it anymore. Then, another thought comes to mind, and I take another deep breath.

 _Where did Mulder go? Did I really see what I think I saw? What is happening?_ _Where’s the angel? Why are John and Monica back, but Alex is missing? Did he and Mulder leave together? No. That’s not right._

I try to sit up again, and am instantly dizzy.

“Whoa. Don’t make any sudden moves, Dana. You could get sick.” John says. At least, I think it’s John. I’m really confused, and it’s discombobulating in the least.

"Oh, my head hurts.” I complain, trying to reach up to my right temple, and pushing away whomever’s hand is trying to keep me down.

“Seriously, Day. You should lay still.”

Unable to fight back and feeling exhausted, I give in to the command; wondering where everyone went. At the same time, I register the feeling of the texture of the sheets underneath my right hand, and I’m a little taken aback.

 _I could have sworn the sheets would be silk. Damn, there goes ten bucks._

I struggle to open my eyes again, and in doing so, find myself looking at my feet.

"Why?" I cry, squeezing my eyes shut once more to block the image of my toes poking up the sheets. "Why me? Why now?"

"Dana." Monica says to me softly from my left. “Day, it’s okay. Everything will be okay now."

“No, it won’t, Monica!" I deny, refusing to open my eyes, refusing to look at her. "You don't understand. I don’t belong here. I belong at home. With my husband and my son. With our baby! Why has my family been taken from me? Was it simply too much for me to have one of my own? After all that I have lost? None of this is real! I can't survive here!" I then force myself to be quiet; scared if I say too much more, something else unwanted will happen to me.

"What is she talking about?" Another worried voice whispers to her. I can almost make out who it is, but not quite.

"I don't know." She replies, honestly. “But I’m glad you’re back. She keeps talking about things that make no sense.”

“I’m goin’ to go find Walter, and a doctor.” John interjects.

_Where did Walter go? He was just here! Doctor? Why?_

"All right, I'll go get her some ice chips." Monica adds.

 _Why are they talking as if I can’t hear them?_

“I can hear you, but yes, please, if I must be here, leave me alone. I don’t want any damn ice chips. Just, leave me be." I say, trying to turn away; wanting to hide from their voices if only by keeping my eyes closed, but I find I can’t roll over. _What the hell is going on?_ I can feel the tears running down my face, from the despair I suffer.

"I can't do that. I won’t.”

I gasp, thinking I hear the voice I crave, but then I realize that it couldn’t be him. He apparently left with Mulder. But, just to be sure I tell him to “Please. You too. Go. I just want to be left alone, in peace. You don't belong here."

"I repeat, I can't do that, Katya. I won’t. No matter how much you plead. Leaving is the one wish, I will not grant you."

There it is, the magic word.

His pet name for me.

My pulse races, as I dare turn my head toward the voice of the man who holds my heart. "Is it really you?" I ask, with my eyes still closed, too frightened to open them.

"Among others." He chuckles.

Whether from relief or in amusement, I cannot tell which. I take the risk and open my eyes; to the most beautiful sight I have ever seen. "Sashka?" I ask, staring into the face of my beloved, seated beside me in a soft vinyl chair. Holding our new son cradled in his arms.

"Yes, Sweetness. It’s me. It’s us.” He replies tenderly, tears in his eyes as he stares at me in return.

I sit up gingerly and scoot over a little and gaze around the room. Confusion clearly written upon my face. “Where are we? Oh, we were in an accident.” I state, as memories begin to flood my consciousness.

“Yes, we were in an accident. On our way home from the restaurant. An idiot ran a light and sideswiped the back of your truck. Luckily, there was not much damage to your Explorer, but we spun a bit, and no one was seriously injured." He answers, as he carefully rises, and then sits down beside me on the bed.

"What?" I ask, shocked to finally realize I am in a hospital room, and not in the plush bedroom I had last seen. “Then what happened, Alex? Is the baby okay? Why am I here in this bed?” I ask, reaching out to take the small bundle of blankets. He gently places our son in my arms around the tubes leading from my left hand. Ignoring them, I swiftly unwrap him; overwhelmed with the need to count his fingers and toes. Fighting tears all the while, as I take notice of the black hair on top of his small head. With a relieved breath at finding nothing wrong with him I rewrap him in his blankets. “He’s beautiful, Alex. But, did I go into labor? I can’t believe he’s here. Is he okay? He wasn’t due for another couple of weeks.”

He smiles at me, lovingly. “Yes you did, and he’s in perfect health. The doctors had to perform an emergency C-section to deliver him, because of the accident. Your anxiety level was too high, and they were afraid of complications.” He looks down at our child, then back up at me, his tears now falling. “But, everyone truly became worried because you lost some blood during the procedure, and had to have a transfusion.”

“Hypovolemia.” I automatically reply; the doctor in me kicking in. _Shit!_

He stares at me then, intently. Afraid.

Fear is not something I am used to seeing in him, and it jolts my senses. “What? Is there something else?”

"You gave us quite a scare, Katya." He continues, quietly. “They told me you were most likely experiencing “delayed awakening”. Caused by the blood loss. You have been out for quite awhile… If you didn’t wake soon, I was going to see if we could move you to a different hospital. I was terrified you would not come back to us. To me. The doctors have been coming in every fifteen minutes to check in on you, but….”

The significance of what he says hits me like a punch.

"Sashka?" I ask, as he leans in and kisses my lips, gently.

"Yes?" He asks, caressing my face.

I can feel in his touch that he is having a hard time controlling his emotions.

 _I really must have scared him!_

"How long have I been unconscious?"

He pulls away and looks over at the clock on the wall, causing me to notice the small bandage across the back of the left side of his neck.

I gasp. _He had been hurt too!_ "Alex, your neck!"

He turns back to me. “I’m fine, Sweetness. It’s nothing serious, merely a shallow laceration. You, however, have been out for almost two hours.”

 _Two hours? That’s all? It felt like all day!_ I think, relieved to realize that it truly wasn’t.

“Too damn long." He continues, moving to my side and pulling both our son and me into his arms. “Do you not remember talking to April in the ER when we arrived? She was trying to calm you down, but it wasn’t working. You started telling her you were cramping, and that’s when she moved forward with the emergency C-section.”

“No, I don’t.” I reply honestly. “The last thing I remember is eating chicken at the restaurant. Everyone is okay, though? Truly?”

“Well, our boy here has been a champ. He scored well on the Apgar, as well as received good results with the blood work, but it was nerve-wracking because you didn’t wake soon after the procedure, as expected. Don’t ever do that to me again. Please. I don't know that I would be able to survive without you, Dana. I love you. I wouldn't want to live, without you in my life. I would for the children, of course, but….” He starts crying into my hair, triggering me to cry, as well. "Please, don't ever leave me." He quietly pleads.

"I love you too, Aleksei." I reply, as I lean into him as carefully and tightly as I can, with our child snuggled close to my chest. “I wouldn't leave you. Ever."

Withdrawing slightly, he wipes at his eyes with a sleeve, while staring at me and he smiles. Almost devilishly.

"What? What are you thinking?" I ask, knowing it must be something good for him to grin like the Cheshire cat.

"First, about how much I love you. Second, I’m thanking God that I didn’t lose either of you, or Will, and I’m thinking of how lucky I am that my family is now going to be okay. Third…."

"Oh my God!" I suddenly gasp, interrupting him. "William? Where is William?"

He laughs, unperturbed by my abnormal rudeness. "William is fine, Katya. He was behind me, on the opposite side of the impact. He was not hurt. We were tossed about a little bit, but you…." He pauses, trying to maintain control over his fresh tears. “You're the one who suffered the worst of it. You, Sweetness, are the one who we have all been worried about. It felt like when we lost your mother. It’s been horrible. You’ve taken so long to awaken. I was afraid you wouldn’t.” He ends in a whisper.

"Oh Alex. I’m sorry, baby. You have no idea how happy I am to be here, with you. All of you.” I reply, reaching up to kiss him again, sweetly, tenderly. "Where is he?" I ask, when I finally pull away from him, noting the questioning look in his teary eyes.

“He's down with his Uncle Walter in the cafeteria, having an ice cream. Walter thought it would help to take his mind off of what was happening.”

"Thank God." I reply, kissing him one more time, then reverting my attention to our beautiful new baby boy. Fresh tears welling and threatening to fall.

"He has your nose." Alex states, smiling.

"I hope he has your eyes." I admit, looking down at his peaceful, sleeping face. Alex grins at me and holds us tighter. "What would you like to name him?" I ask, stroking at our new son's soft face.

"Aleksei Fox Krycek."

I look up wide-eyed and his grin broadens, though there is still a touch of sorrow in his gaze.

"What? You think I don't miss him?"

"No, I know you do. It’s just…." I try to turn away, but he won’t allow it. He reaches over and lifts my chin, forcing me to look into his beautiful emerald eyes.

“Honey, every time I look upon William, I not only see you, but I also see Mulder. There is nothing wrong with that, either. In fact, there are times when in doing so, I must flee, to keep from breaking down. I made a promise to myself, after his death, that should I ever be blessed with a son, I would name him in his honor."

"I wish he had been able to get to know you, Alex. The real you."

"I know you do. But, it’s all right—you did." He replies, looking momentarily away.

The tears are flowing freely from me now, as I realize, not for the first time, how much Mulder had really and truly, affected all of us. How much he is still a part of us. Even Monica and John have been affected. For, if it were not for my unrelenting search for him, they may not have found each other, again.

 _Could that have been what Mulder meant?_ I wonder, grasping at the threads of my nightmare, almost forgotten, as I look up to see my son and his uncle walk in through the door.

"Mom!" William shouts, as he finds me awake and runs across the linoleum floor toward us; wanting to give me hugs and kisses. Yet, noticing his baby brother in my arms, he hesitates, afraid he may hurt him in his haste to get to me. “Dad?”

“It’s all right, Will. You can come up on the bed. Just do it slowly, okay? Your brother is sleeping, and your mother needs to not be jostled too much.”

“Okay.” William replies, taking off his sneakers before hopping onto the foot of the bed, and inching his way toward the three of us.

"Hi, Doc.” Walter greets with a grin on his normally stoic face. “John came and told us you were finally waking up. Are you all right? How’re you feeling?” He asks, concern evident in his voice, as he follows William from the doorway, and walks up to the other side of the hospital bed to plant a kiss on my forehead.

“I'm better, Walt. Sorry to have alarmed you. All of you." I say, as Monica and John join the party. She places a paper cup of ice chips on the table, next to my bed. “I’m also sorry if I yelled at you earlier, Mon. About the ice chips.” I apologize; trying to grasp a vague memory of the incident, while giving her a smile of gratitude.

“Don’t even worry about it, Day. It’s already forgotten and forgiven.”

“Just, don't you go doin' that whole comatose-type thin’ again. You had us plenty scared. Thought Alex over there was goin’ to lose it, ’til he had that beautiful boy o’ yours in hand. Will, here, also did a good job to keep him grounded.” He says with a smile in his voice; rustling my firstborn’s chestnut hair. “So, anyway, no more, ‘Kay?” John demands, placing his arm around his wife when she rejoins his side. He’s clearly happy all is now well, in his little world.

I smile at my friends-turned-family, and then turn to my eldest son, who’s been waiting patiently for the adults to stop talking. “It's okay, Little Man." I assure him with a large grin; hoping I don’t break down into tears once more. "You can give me a kiss. Your brother won't mind at all." I whisper, hoping to relay his fears.

Alex withdraws, allowing William to climb up between us, and then sits back down. William leans over and kisses me on the cheek, and then does the same to his little brother, causing his dad and I to smile.

“Doctor Krycek?”

“Yes?” I automatically answer, noticing one of my regular nurses in the doorway. “Hi, Michelle. Please, come in. I realize this is highly irregular, but…”

“We know. Can’t keep out your family.” She replies with a smile. “However, Agent Doggett informed us his wife thought you’d woken up, so we would like to run a few tests.”

"Well, that’s our cue. Monica and I are goin' to head home now. Dana, you get better fast. I’ll come by tomorrow, Alex, to see if you need anythin'. I don't expect to see you back at the office for at least a few days."

Alex laughs at him. "No, you won't. But you’re more than welcome to drop by. Or call if you have a question.”

"You can count on it." Walter adds, as he too, prepares to make his leave.

"Day, you call me if you need anything. Remember, I could use the practice." Monica reminds me with a gleam in her eye, as she looks at her husband, who is grinning from ear to ear. I can't help but start to laugh, now fully aware I truly am not stuck on a deserted island, being forced to….

I am where I should be.

Though many years have gone by since his death, Mulder is still sorely missed. In looking about the room at my friends, I wistfully think of how proud he would be, that I finally have built the life he used to plead with me to leave him and make.

_How tragic it took his dying in order for me to do it, and he can’t be a part._

A couple of hours after our friends left, and I went through a changing of the dressing across my midsection, as well as the required battery of tests to prove I’m indeed okay, I find myself once more in my private hospital room with my little family. The boys are both asleep; one in a cot, and the other in a bassinet, when I turn my attention back to my husband; curious. He can’t seem to wipe the smile off his handsome face as he continues to gaze between the three of us, and I suddenly remember there was something else he had wanted to tell me.

"Sashka?"

"Yes, Katya?"

"What was the third thing on your list?"

Grinning wide, he rises from from his spot beside me and walks over to a small table set only a few short feet from where I lay against the back of the bed. He picks up what looks like a new sketchbook, and walks back over to me, resuming his spot.

"When you were…," he glances at William, “... asleep," then back at me, "you were periodically talking."

 _Sweet Jesus. Does he know the horror I went through? Or, I at least thought I was going through?_

"I was?" I ask apprehensively, fearful of what he may have heard. What I may have said.

"Yes. They seem to have been pretty vivid, too; your dreams." He grins—all bright white teeth—as he begins to look over the pages of the notebook he had apparently written in. And drawn in, if the black lines I glimpse are anything to go by.

"Alex?" I inquire, more than a little worried.

He must sense my unease, as he looks at me and says, as gently as I have ever heard him speak: "What is it, Katya? You look like you’ve seen a ghost."

My breath hitches. Hearing the words coming from him, that Mulder had said in my dream, is almost enough to spook me into wanting to flee again. However, I know in my heart, there is no need for that. I am safe now.

Here.

With him and our sons.

"Are you all right?" He asks, reaching out to place an errant strand of hair behind my ear, his concern heightened. “You just turned white as a sheet. I was kidding about the ghost, I promise.”

Neither one of us appreciate any reminders of the X-Files. Not even a small one. Too many bad memories there. For the both of us. Hence why I’ve had such an intense reaction to my… dream… or, whatever.

I give him a small smile and nod my head. “It’s nothing. Really. What did you sketch?" I divert, as cheerful as possible. "My sleeping form?"

He watches me a moment longer. Needing to convince himself I am in fact all right. "Not funny, Sweetness." He replies, with a still haunted look about him. He then brightens, as he opens the book. "You kept going on about a house." He says, while thumbing through the pages; taking a peek up at me every five seconds.

“What?” I ask, shocked. This time not out of fear, but out of the simple remembrance of the beautiful house I had found myself seeking refuge. The one I now know had belonged to him. In Dreamland.

"Are you sure you’re okay?" He asks again, while placing the sketchbook down on the bed. He then puts his hands upon my face, and feels his way along my head, as if searching for bumps.

I start laughing, and playfully push him away. “I’m okay, I promise. Other than a bit of discomfort, I’m fine.” I reply softly, so as not to wake our sleeping children. "Everything is wonderful, Sashka. Please, go on."

Satisfied I’m truly all right—and not giving him an old 'fine' type brush-off—he quickly kisses me and again picks up his sketchbook; just as our new boy decides he wants to eat. Dropping the book once more, he rushes to the bassinet, and gently picks him up from inside. “How’s our little one this evening? Are you hungry?” He asks, as he makes his way back to me. “I’ll bet Mama has something for you.”

After getting the all clear that the anesthesia has worn off, and I’m otherwise is good health I was told I could finally feed my newborn, when he decided to wake. Now that he has, I’m eager to be “Mom” again.

“Here you go, Little One.” Alex says, carefully placing him in my arms. While I settle in and start to nurse our newborn babe, I pointedly look between the two, and smile wide.

He stares at us for a few moments, his own speech lost.

"Sashka. Honey, go on." I say after a couple of minutes; beaming at him, and gesturing with a nod toward his drawings.

He smiles. “Oh, yes. Anyway, while you were sleeping, you described a log house. I know it must seem an insane thing to do, but I had Walter go and retrieve a fresh sketchbook from the gift shop, and while you were asleep, I started drawing what you were saying. Is this the house? The one you dreamt about?" He asks, showing me his work.

It’s a perfect depiction of the log home.

I nod and suck in my breath, as I peer at the sight of it, this time truly, in front of my eyes.

He notices my reaction and grins. "You want to know what I think about this house?"

I can only smile in return, too stunned to articulate any form of verbal response.

"Katya, this house would be perfect for us. It would need another two rooms added for the boys, but overall….” He pauses, gazing into my eyes, as if for my consent, for what I know he wants to ask.

I break out into a wider grin of my own, when he asks me the question I already have the answer to.

"Would you mind if I built it? For you? For us? For our family?"

"Sashka."

He swiftly moves on, as though afraid I will actually tell him no. "I know that it seems crazy. Hell, it probably is, but Katya, it’s beautiful and I would love to give it to you. We have the money, what with the inheritance that Mulder left you and William, and the one that my family left me, so that would not even be an issue. I also have the perfect plot of land in mind, just on the outskirts of the city, if…."

"Alex?"

"Yes?"

"Yes."

He stares at me for a long time. He stares at me, as though he has never seen me before; even after ten years of marriage and two children. He stares at me for so long that it’s my turn to become worried.

"Aleksei? Honey? Are **you** okay?" I ask, reaching up and running my right hand through his dark hair.

He grins. "Sweetness, I am perfect. I just… I don’t know how to explain it. For some reason, I could swear I just heard him laughing. Almost… almost in a congratulatory way."

"Who?" I ask, now truly worried about him.

"Mulder."

It’s my turn to stare at him.

“I know, it sounds nuts, but… I swear, I did."

I watch him, and I know he’s not crazy. I have seen a lot of things in this life, and hearing a dead loved one laugh? Well, that can’t be too paranormal, and in looking at my husband, at my two sons, I now understand what my dream meant.

Mulder was making me choose.

Choose between continuing on with my life, keeping sight of those that love me and make me happy. Or holding on to the past. A past I could not change, no matter how it was played out.

"Sashka, I'll not bet against you, and you’re not nuts. I have no doubts, that you just did. Yes. Let's build the house."

He beams at me, and just as he leans in to kiss me again, I shift our son to allow him better access, and I notice my ring. My treasured ruby and diamond wedding ring. No longer missing from my left hand. I smile, as I return his kiss. A moment later, while trying to keep my tears at bay, I hear a small voice from the end of the bed.

"Dad?"

"Yes, William?"

"What did you name my brother, again?” He asks, climbing back up to cuddle against me.

We gaze down at our eldest son, who brings so much joy into our lives and we both smile. "Your mother and I," he replies lovingly, "have named him, Aleksei Fox."

"I like that name. Can I call him Fox, though? I don’t want you to get confused.” He replies, looking down at his new baby brother. He tentatively touches the baby's face, and he smiles.

My husband and I share a look, and both grin at his innocence. We’ve agreed he’s still too young to know about the circumstances surrounding his existence, but he knows who is real father was. It’s important to us that he understands how loved he truly is. Alex responds in the only way he knows: honestly. "It is a nice name, William, so yes, we can all call him Fox. You know it was an honor for me to have known a man named Fox?”

He looks at his dad for what seems like a long time, at least for an eleven year old boy, and then he replies. "You mean my other daddy. The one who died helping to protect Mom?"

"Yes, William. The very same. You want to know something else?"

“What, Dad?"

"He was one of the best protectors."

"Is that why God made him into an angel?"

"Yes, Darling." I tell him. "That is why he is an angel."

~~~

EPILOGUE:

One Year Later

"Alex? Day? We’re here!"

Alex stands from our couch in the living room where he has been sketching his latest work, and walks up to greet Monica, as she and John stride through the front door. John is proudly carrying their three month old son Jay, in his arms.

"Wow! This place is stunning!" Monica states, as she places her diaper bag on the floor near the recliner.

As I walk over from the bar in the kitchen, where I’ve been feeding some oatmeal to Fox, Alex and I both laugh at her.

"Monica, it’s not like you haven’t been here during the construction." I remind her.

“I know, but still. Now that you are all moved in it looks different. More, homey."

I smile at her. Quite unable to believe myself, my family and I live in the house that, literally, came from a dream.

"I think she’s still a bit shocked herself, Monica." Alex laughs, while grinning at me as I playfully tickle his side in passing, before Monica takes Fox from my arms, and I in turn take Jay from John's.

"Stop it, Sashka. You know how hard I still find it our home is almost identical to that which I described while “asleep”. To what you were able to sketch in only a few hours from my mumblings."

"Yes, well. I am good, and nothing is too much for you or our sons." He winks, as he and John start walking toward the kitchen. It’s their turn to cook the family dinner.

“Smart ass.” I retort, before turning to my best friend. "He is absolutely adorable, Mon." I say, while I look down at her son, as we walk through the house to the baby's bedroom.

"Thank you, Day." She beams, as every first-time mom does.

After depositing Fox into his crib for a nap, Monica and I walk back through the house toward the bar and sit down, relaxing while the men start to prepare grilled salmon with a mixed vegetable medley for dinner.

"Where is William?" John asks, as he looks over at his wife, and smiling at the sight of her with their child.

"He is currently in his bedroom, kicking the crap out of Walter at DOOM." Alex chuckles, as he washes the fish.

We all join him in laughter, picturing the sight of Walter Skinner, Director of the FBI, getting beat at a video game by a twelve year old boy.

"He loves it, though. No matter how much he may complain that William never lets him win." I reply.

"Yes. I do." Walter agrees, as he and William walk in to join the rest of the family. He walks over to the sink and washes his hands, then starts to cut up some carrots, as John slices tomatoes.

"Dad?"

"Yes, Will?" Alex asks, looking across the kitchen, as he washes then dries his hands. "What is it?"

William walks up to him and looks at the vegetables his uncles are preparing; scrunching his nose. "Do you think tomorrow night, we could order in pizza?"

I laugh, fondly remembering Mulder; whom his simple request reminds me.

“Yes, I think that could easily be arranged." Alex replies, ruffling William's chestnut hair; giving me a conspiratorial wink.

After the dinner has been prepared, and we are about to take our seats at the log and glass table that was custom made for the dining area, I glance around and grin.

Alex smiles in return, and takes my hand. "Are you happy, Sweetness?"

"More than I have ever been." I reply honestly, and kiss him.

As the rest of the group begins to eat, I hear the baby start to fuss and make my way through the house, to his room. Leaning over the crib, I pick him up and walk back out to join the rest of the family, stopping along the way to look at the painting, which proudly hangs by the front door, and I smile.

"Angel."

Surprised by hearing a new word from my youngest son, I call to the others and they hurry over to join us, each looking between him and the painting; grinning.

"Yes, Fox. That is an angel. Angel Mulder." Alex informs his young son, as he reaches for William and then pulls us into an embrace. We all admire the image he had painstakingly been working on, over the last two years, and only recently completed. The work of art of a smiling Fox William Mulder with pearl-colored wings.

Wrapping all of us in his protective arms.

~Fin~

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. I truly hope you enjoyed the story. A friend of mine made a "dust jacket" for this all those years ago, but I still haven't quite figured out how to post an image here. Anyway, I forgot just how much I loved the X-Files fandom, until I found and started both editing this piece, as well as re-reading decades old (now) fanfic from around the web. Now that my health is on the uptake, I hope to both get back into writing and keeping up with the fandom. Any mistakes still found within I wholly blame on my meds. HAHA. Anyway, who knows, maybe I'll find it in me to do either a sequel or a prequel at some point. Remember kids: Trust No One, and have a great day!


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